Domestic Bliss (and Other Things Parents Don't Allow)
by foremmaforeverago
Summary: Michael and Holly arrive in Boulder, Colorado, to begin their new life together - but it's only as new as their oldest burdens. Stuck between overbearing parents, abusive exes, and new jobs that just don't compare, the two of them struggle to get to their future while enjoying where they are.
1. And It's Not So Bad

**Chapter I**

 **And It's Not So Bad**

* * *

 _Then you call me,_

 _And it's not so bad — not so bad…_

\- "Thank You" by MKTO (cover by Andi & Alex).

* * *

It had been a year and three months since Michael Scott had gone off to war. Though the bonds among soldiers in his platoon, built over the terrible hardships of war, were incredibly strong, Michael had missed his dear wife, Holly, more than he'd ever missed anything before. Now, minus an arm and half of his toes, Michael was ready to come home.

This story at least kept him preoccupied as he waited at baggage claim, forever or until death of boredom. After a week without seeing Holly at all, it was this last moment of anticipation which proved most agonizing.

She had promised to meet him here as soon as he landed, but either she was about to jump out and scare him, or she still hadn't gotten here yet. He hoped she was late because she had stopped for ice cream or something, but he doubted it. She was probably stuck in traffic; and she was a conscientious driver, so it could be a while.

He had already found his bags, so now, he had nothing to do but to wait. He sat down alone on one of the least comfortable benches in the entire world, like a hobo, keeping his eyes on the crowds of people who would likely block Holly from his view. She was pretty short, compared to some people, but Michael liked that about her. When she wore flats, her head would fit right under his chin, and her whole body would go against his like two gigantic puzzle pieces.

He hadn't hugged her in a whole week.

When she'd first decided to go ahead of him to Colorado, he hadn't been worried about it. After all, he'd gone months without seeing her when they were broken up. It had hurt like hell for a really long time, but he was practiced at it, now. This time, he knew it would only be a week until he'd be with her again — and then, forever. He shouldn't have missed her this much.

But he did. He missed her cute face, and her voice — he'd talked to her on the phone, but it didn't sound the same — and her jokes, and the smell of her shampoo. He missed touching her and kissing her, and he missed making her laugh. And maybe even more than the _sex_ , he really just missed her calming presence. He could have used it this week.

He had done the hardest thing ever today — _that's what she said_ — and said his farewells to everyone at the office. And he'd done it without telling them that it was his last day in Scranton, which made the process both easier and _so much harder_. It was almost too heartbreaking for him to go through with it — he'd nearly given up. It was only after he had Holly on the phone, hearing her voice and feeling her peace, her certainty that this was the right thing to do, that he could stay the course.

And now, sitting here in a strange airport in a strange state, without her, he could feel the doubt creeping back into his mind. After all, good decisions were supposed to feel _good,_ and this didn't feel good at all. Maybe he'd made a mistake. Maybe he'd made a huge mistake and he needed to go back.

" _SECRET AGENT MICHAEL SCARN."_

Then he saw it.

There, in the air, written out in familiar bubbly handwriting, soaring at a low altitude just above the sea of human heads, was his sign. There was his ride home, signaled adorably by his best friend and fiancee, Secret Agent Holly Floss. He couldn't see her yet, in the distance and clouded by strangers, but she was there.

"Holly!" he shouted, trying to get her attention. It wasn't likely that she heard him over the overwhelming chatter of airport rush, but he kept trying anyway. "Hey, Holly!"

Suddenly, the sign lowered down into the crowd, vanishing from view. Michael sighed, already on his feet and anxious to see her. She refused to show. "Holly! Over here!"

For a moment, he wondered if she'd completely gone the wrong way. He tried to listen for her, but there were a lot of flights coming in at one time, and too many people crowded the arrivals for him to see her — much less _hear_ her. And she'd told him to stay put…

There she was. He'd found her

Her hair seemed longer, but that was probably just in his head — she'd said on the phone that she wanted to grow it out, but there was no way it had grown at all in just a week. She looked endearingly casual in her jeans and her flats, a look which she had to know was one of his favorites. There was a blush on her face, too, when their eyes finally locked — and the blue eyes seemed even brighter than he remembered, than he pictured in his head…

And she held in her free hand, to his utter disbelief, two ice cream cones.

Then she turned the big white sign, and his whole heart melted.

" _Mint chocolate chip?"_

When he looked back down at her, she wore one big smile, making his whole being buzz with excitement as she headed toward him. The mere idea, the plan in his head to reach her and hug her and kiss her and squeeze her so tight that she couldn't _breathe_ , just put his feet on the fritz as he walked toward her — and then jogged toward her — and then tripped — and then walked toward her, until they were within hearing range.

"Hey," she greeted him from a few feet away — her voice low and excited as she smiled at him.

"Drop the sign," Michael said, not stopping.

She blinked. "What?"

"Trust me." He let go of his suitcases, too.

And fortunately, she'd dropped it just in time, before he collided with her, lips landing clumsily on hers as his hands fell to her waist. Then, he made a big scene, because an airport was a perfect place for a big scene — ask any movie ever — and he lifted her up off the ground. He pressed a few successive kisses into her mouth, taking his time, to make up for the week he'd spent sleeping alone…

If they were only aliens who didn't need to breathe, he might not have stopped; but both of their breaths were growing short, so he pulled away first. When he opened his eyes to look at her, he found that she was already grinning. He chuckled, and rested his forehead on hers before whispering, "I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too," she breathed, shaking her head. Her free hand drew fingernail trails in his hair, while she still held two cones in the other. She raised her eyebrows, and added in a sultry voice, "I brought ice cream."

Michael felt goosebumps rise up on his arms at the tone of her voice, drawing his lips toward her again, like a gravitational pull — and he was stuck to her, like a magnet to a magnet — like peanut butter and jelly — like gum to a shoe, but ten times more romantic. Had it really only been a week since they'd been this close? It seemed like much longer.

"-t's gonna melt," she eventually said as she retreated from the kiss, blush deepening as she looked into his eyes. His breath caught, reluctant at first; he pulled back just an inch as she retracted her arms from around his neck, until the ice cream was between them. He accepted his cone gratefully, nodding his head in thanks.

"You," he said, pausing to lick his ice cream cone, "are an angel. Did you know that?"

She was still smiling, probably right beside him, hanging over the moon. "Well, I try." As if to add to her point, she inched past him to grab one of his suitcases, hooking the handle over her arm so she could lick her ice cream. "I figured you'd want something sweet after a bunch of airplane food."

"You figured correctly," Michael said. He reached out to grab her hand before they even thought about leaving. When he lifted his head again, she leaned closer before replying.

"Also," she said, and that suggestive voice made a reappearance. "I kinda wanted to watch you lick it."

Michael's eyes widened at that. "That's wh-"

"-what she said," she said at the same time as he did, and winked at him. Hands squeezing together, they left the baggage claim behind, making for the exit. Then, she added in a country accent, "It's been a week too long, pardner. A week too long."

He chuckled, eyebrows raised. "Absolutely, _pardner_. In fact, I just might have to take you down to the station tonight."

"Oh, really? What's my crime?" she drawled.

He raised his eyebrow, prepared to say something about how sexy she was — but then, looking over at her, he paused, his steps slowing a bit. His eyes stopped on her for just a second, or what was supposed to be just a second, wandering all the way up and all the way down — from her cheeks all pink, and her lips, and her shoulder bumping against his as they walked — and he felt the swelling in his chest, the excitement, the nervous butterfly feeling that had followed him all year. He realized just how much he'd missed her. He'd been so lonely without her jokes, and her hand holding his, and the entertainment of watching her do simple things like licking an ice cream cone or waving a sign in an airport. He'd missed existing with her.

And now his own face was heating up, as she watched him in curiosity, waiting for his response. He looked down at his feet and muttered in a low, southern whisper, "For… being the best, ever."

He glanced up just in time to see the transition, the softening of her features and the falter of her steps as she processed this answer. She eyed him silently, lips parted, and swallowed.

Suddenly, Holly came to a complete stop — just looking at him until he stopped, too. He froze, eyes widening, and wondered if he'd upset her. He hadn't meant to ruin the game, but he'd thought-

She barreled into him, throwing her arms around him so strongly that he jolted; he nearly dropped his ice cream, but only nearly. She swiftly rested her head against his chest and pulled him tightly into her embrace, with no explanation whatsoever. He didn't understand what was happening, but it felt good.

"You okay?" he asked tentatively.

Holly sniffed, which sounded bad, but nodded her head. "Yeah," she said into his jacket. Slowly, she pulled back to look at him. "Yeah, god, I just… I missed you."

He blinked at her, rubbing her back lightly. "I missed you, too."

She sniffed, and stared down into his shoulder. "This week has been so hard," she continued quietly. "My dad is doing worse than I thought, and my mom and I keep fighting, and I'm so… relieved that you're here, now. I needed you."

Michael couldn't decide if being needed made him happy, or sad, or terrified — but he could safely include that any one of those emotions were nearby. He frowned and brushed her hair over her shoulder. "I needed you, too. But it's gonna get better now, right?"

"Right," Holly said, taking a deep breath. "Yes. We've got this."

" _We got it_ ," he echoed. He gave her a squeeze, and added, "But it's not gonna be very fun if we do it on an empty stomach, so…?"

She smiled at his redirection, eyebrow raised. "Well, Mom is making dinner at home, and I promised her and Dad they'd get to meet my soulmate tonight…"

"Ooh, that sounds like fun," Michael said — even though he wasn't sure it really did, and there was a very real possibility that this mere mentioning was the dawn of a great feeling of doubt and personal horror — but he didn't let it show. "Let'sh go."

"Let ush go."

"Shtep lightly, now."

"Of courshe!"

"A horshe, of courshe!" Michael added, and started back on their path out of the airport.

* * *

 ** _There are a few things I need to explain about this story real fast._**

 ** _Firstly, this is an old story. It hasn't been touched since 2015, when I was 16 and lovesick and channeling it all into fanfiction. I'm only posting it now, after the fact, as some kind of healing process bullshit for myself. So while any comments will be read and appreciated, I can't take your input into account for the rest of the story. It's already been written. It's permanently shit._**

 ** _Secondly, this is a 200K-word, 100-chapter story. I'll be posting a chapter every day until it's out of my hair, so if daily notifications/emails are going to bother you, you shouldn't hit the Follow button. Fair warning._**

 ** _Thirdly, I'd like to say that this is an emotional project for me. I planned it with (and wrote it for) my best friend, and I fell in love with her during the 1.5 years I worked on it. I never finished it, and maybe getting closure on this will help me get over her, too. That's all I want._**

 ** _I don't expect anyone to read this, but if you did... thanks._**


	2. My Lover's Got Humor

**Chapter II**

 **My Lover's Got Humor**

* * *

 _My lover's got humor;_

 _She's a giggle at a funeral._

 _Knows everybody's disapproval…_

\- "Take Me to Church" by Hozier.

* * *

If he could only think straight, he would think back to whatever he'd said recently — to figure out what he'd done to receive this kind of treatment. But he couldn't remember it. They'd just arrived at her parents' neighborhood when she randomly pulled over and parked. Then she'd unbuckled her seatbelt, as if to get out; and she leaned over and just started kissing him.

And it was not a chaste kiss, either. She was all at once on his mouth, lips coming down on his in a crash landing as her hands reached out to grip the collar of his shirt, pulling him over the cupholders to deepen the kiss. He happily obliged, leaning into her hungry lips while his own hands came to her face. His mind had shut off, going into instinct — his teeth nibbled at her lower lip in the full knowledge that she would _groan_ …

There it was, soft and airy, her moan in his mouth, which lit his skin up with sheer anticipation. His hand sneaked up under her blouse as she moved even closer to the passenger side, sighing against his lips. Suddenly, his nerves about meeting her parents turned into excitement, as he wondered how quickly they could wrap up dinner and hit the bed. He might pull the jet-lag excuse just to get her to himself.

Then, just as his thoughts had lost all coherency, as his hands flattened against the soft skin under her shirt and slid up, up, up… she pulled back.

He opened his eyes in surprise, mouth already open to protest — but then, he caught sight of her, and he was all smiles. She was a human sunbeam, skin glowing with a blush and eyes such a bright blue, trained on him with such visible admiration. Her blouse was disheveled and her breathing was uneven as she looked him over… And he was completely dazzled. He wanted to do her right now, in the car, parked outside some strange family's home.

Just as he leaned in for a little more fun, however, Holly groaned and looked up at the ceiling in distress. "This is going to be harder than I thought," she muttered.

"That's wh-" he began to say, eyebrows raised, but he could sense that this wasn't the time. "What do you mean?"

She looked back down at him, frowning. "Honey, I don't think we're gonna be able to _do_ anything tonight."

Michael blinked, registering her words slowly, before his enthusiasm turned into frustration. "Damn it! I thought you had your period last week."

"No, that's not- Michael," she said, shaking her head. She played with his hair gently as she continued, "It's my parents — or my mom, really… I don't think she'd be comfortable with us… fooling around in her house."

He knew she was right, but still, he was caught quite off-guard. "But we'll be with them for weeks — maybe _months_ if we don't find a house!"

"It's not like they're gonna be home all the time," Holly reasoned, fingers tickling under his ear, the vixen. "We can always go to a hotel sometime."

"Sometime," Michael echoed with a sigh. "Code for 'never.' Whatever, let's go."

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad," he grumbled. "I'm irked. You would be, too, if you knew what I had in mind for tonight."

"Don't tease me," she practically groaned as she once again started the engine. "And 'sometime' is not code for 'never.' It's code for 'this weekend.'"

Michael's eyebrows shot up in delight, his mood slightly improved at the thought. And it was good, too, because he really needed to make her parents love him tonight — and moody Michael didn't make the best impression.

Still, he struggled with his smile as they rolled up in front of her parents' adorable little hellhole. The front door was already open.

He hadn't noticed Holly's curious stare on him as they both unbuckled their seatbelts. Her smiling voice caught his attention. "Are you nervous?"

Michael knew that she had seen right through him, but that didn't keep him from trying. "Why would I be nervous?" he asked nervously. He opened the passenger door a bit abruptly. "These people raised you, and you're like a wingless angel. It's like I'm meeting God." Glancing at her over the top of the car, he added, "And… Mary."

Holly raise her eyebrows at him, beaming. "Right," she agreed, walking around to the trunk. "Who would be nervous about meeting God?"

" _What if God was one of us?"_ Michael sang loudly, echoing through the quiet neighborhood evening. He didn't even have to signal her.

" _Just a stranger-"_

"He's not ugly!" came an excited shout from the porch, interrupting the song. Holly's expression changed drastically as they both turned to look.

Holly's mother stood on the steps of her house with thumbs up in the air, a bright (and slightly suggestive) smile on her face. Michael quickly realized that Mrs. Flax had been referring to him. He blushed uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond.

But Holly, without missing a beat, called back, "I know! I was pretty jazzed about that!"

Without a clue of what to say, he merely mumbled in a smooth voice, "Jazz."

Mrs. Flax started down the driveway toward them, stepping earnestly, eyes shifting between Holly and him. Then her expression soured. "Jesus, Michael," she said, a bit humorously. "Leave something for Holly to carry."

Michael's eyes turned to Holly where she stood at the trunk, her arms lines with luggage, eyes widening. She froze, looking at her mother. "Mom," she scolded gently. "Michael's been carrying these all day."

His face flushed in embarrassment, not meaning to make Holly carry everything. He inched toward her, reaching for the bags in her hands. "I'll take some of these-"

"No," Holly whispered, ignoring her mother's remark, face spelled with concern. "You're tired, honey. I've got this."

"I'll — park the car, then."

"I parked it," she assured him. Mrs. Flax took a suitcase out of Holly's hand and turned back toward the house.

Michael sighed, hands up in confusion. "Then I guess I'll…"

The screen door shut loudly, leaving them alone outside. Michael was still frozen in place with a stunning feeling that he'd failed the first impression. Again, with exhaustion and disappointment, he sighed loudly.

But Holly offered a smile, as though this had all gone well. "This is going to be good," she said softly, eyes glistening as she leaned over and kissed his cheek. That lifted his spirit a bit.

With a small smile, he took her free hand in his, wiggling his fingers between hers. She winked up at him slyly, squeezing his hand, before starting off to the front door.

At least he'd managed to open the door for her before Mrs. Flax could do it and make him feel guilty. He happened to _love_ doing things for Holly — especially opening doors for her, because he could reach out to guide her through and tickle her butt secretly. He had a feeling he shouldn't try that now, though.

Still, he gave it a good, appreciate look as he walked behind her. And it was as cute as ever.

"Gosh," Holly breathed as she walked into the living room of the Flax household. "Did you redecorate while I was gone?"

Michael received an immediate sense of home when he entered the room, looking around at the light-green walls and the light-wood floors — the soft-looking couch, the warm fireplace — the fuzzy rug and the lamplight and the flowing curtains stretching to the floor. His nose was trained for four-cheese lasagna, and right now, he smelled it.

"Well, retirement's a bitch when you're stuck at home," Mrs. Flax remarked rather coarsely as she guided them through the room. "So I figured I'd make the house nice for the boyfriend."

Holly was stunned, it seemed, as she reached a hand back to take Michael's. "Fiance," she corrected quietly. They arrived in the kitchen, which was a paler lime color, with little white-gray tiles down below — and now he was looking at her legs. They were great legs.

After the briefest of moments, he felt the heat of Mrs. Flax's eyes on him, and he looked up quickly. "Hungry?"

Michael froze, eyes widening at her, eventually falling on Holly when she turned to look at him. "What?" he asked, like a deer in headlights — a talking deer. A Rudolph bit flew through his mind at this very wrong time.

"Lasagna's in the oven," Mrs. Flax clarified with a hint of amusement. She nodded toward the open doorway, and pushed off the counter. "Your dad's in the bedroom reading. I don't think he'll mind being interrupted."

"What's my dad doing here?" Michael joked, a small smile aimed at Holly.

Holly caught on quickly. "Oh, we kidnapped him earlier this week. We needed to hear all your embarrassing childhood stories."

His mouth opened. "Damn it! I hope he didn't give up the pool noodle story."

"I believe _you_ told me that one," she said with a wink. She smiled at her mother. "You'll love this story, Mom. It sounds just like something Mark would have done when he was younger."

"I can't wait to hear it," Mrs. Flax said abruptly, turning back to the door. "There's drinks in the refrigerator."

Without another word to spare, Mrs. Flax left them alone at the counter, both in a similar state of surprise. Michael was more concerned than Holly, it appeared. "Is she… Did I say something? Or…"

Holly grinned as she hopped onto a barstool, patting the seat beside her. He took the seat and watched as she retrieved a stack of plates from the cupboard overhead, mumbling, "That's just Mom. She'll love you when she decides to stop hating you."

Michael swallowed. "Oh. I… can't wait."

* * *

 _ **Holly's mother was the "original" character I most remember writing, because she came with no planning ahead of her. I just sat down and her dialogue came to me, without delay. I wanted to give her something distinct from the stereotypical "mom" voice, not too mean but not too syrupy-sweet, not like anything I'd heard from anyone in my family or friend circle. I don't remember how she turns out as the story goes on, though. Guess we'll find out.**_


	3. Where We Used to Live

**Chapter III**

 **Where We Used to Live**

* * *

 _I drove back to the place_

 _Where we used to live…_

 _Sometimes something so broken_

 _Can never be fixed…_

\- "Build It Better" by Aron Wright.

* * *

"It's ready, but it needs another few minutes to cool," Mrs. Flax announced as she shut the oven door loudly and straightened up. She turned back to face them behind the counter, and smiled slightly. "I would have had it ready earlier, but it's been… a long day."

Michael was seated at the bar, quietly, a bit out of place. Holly was next to him with her barstool scooted up quite close to his, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder — all ten of her fingers wiggled between all ten of his. Her face was spelled with concern. "You could have let Dad help you out with some of this, Mom. You know? You don't have to do everything by yourself."

Mrs. Flax waved her hand at her. "I don't mind. Besides, your father's been so wrapped up in his book lately that I just… wanted to let him be."

Holly swallowed, glancing at Michael briefly, then back at her mother. "Well, that's why I'm _here_ , Mom. I didn't have to go shopping today."

"Nonsense. You had things you needed to do — so did I."

Holly sighed. "Mom-"

"You wanna know what you can do for me?" Mrs. Flax cut her off gently, and nodded toward the doorway. "You can go get your father's butt down here. He'll only put that book down if he knows you're back."

At this, Michael tensed up a little bit, his hands squeezing hers slightly. Leaving him alone with her _mother_ was a terrible plan — she had to know that by now. All he'd done since they arrived, through the living room conversation and the tour of the house, was make Mrs. Flax's face twist up in that expression of pained disapproval, when all he'd been trying to do was make her or _anyone_ laugh. He couldn't handle her on his own. He needed Holly as a buffer.

But Holly let go of his hands, with some hesitance, and kissed his cheek. "I'll be right back," she said, and slipped off the barstool, onto her feet. He watched her mournfully as she went, and as she stopped beside her mother — and whispered something in her ear. Mrs. Flax made a sour face at her. Holly lowered her chin seriously.

"Okay," Mrs. Flax whispered with a huff. Only then would Holly leave the room.

Once she was gone, there was nothing but silence to fill the air. While Michael sat uncomfortably at the counter with nothing to do and no hands to hold, Mrs. Flax virtually ignored him, busying herself instead with cutting into the lasagna. He only observed at first, trying not to bother her — but it felt rude to just sit there and let her work alone. So he took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

Mrs. Flax looked up at him, and said nothing.

"I didn't really introduce myself," Michael said nervously. He extended a hand toward her. "Scott. Michael Scott. Licensed to kill," he added jokingly.

She didn't respond to the joke, although she did shake his hand. "Nice to meet you, Michael. Annie Flax."

She then turned back to her work, leaving him back in silence.

"Can I, uh, help you out with anything?" he asked eventually with a shrug of the shoulders. "Cook anything? Set the thermostat?"

She raised her eyebrows, quiet at first. "Is it too cold for you?"

Michael blinked rapidly. "No! No, I was just…"

"Is the table set?" she cut him off. He turned to look back at the table behind him, swallowing.

"Uh, no."

"Then you can do that." She reached up to open a cabinet beside her, revealing a stack of plates. She put on a false grin. "Plates there, silverware over in that drawer under the sink."

"Okay," he breathed, nodding his head. He jumped to his feet, then, stepping eagerly around the counter to help. He stepped around her toward the cabinet up high and retrieved four plates, setting them down on the counter.

She took one glance sideways. "We don't use those. Get the white ones."

Michael bit his tongue. "Sorry."

"How was your flight?"

"Sor- oh," he stopped himself, looking over at her. "Uh, yeah. It was good — not too turbulent. And the people were nice. I met a few locals."

"Oh, yeah?" She turned back to face him with interest. "What do you think of Colorado people so far? Are they different from Pennsylvanians?"

Michael shrugged. "Well, I can't make a real judgment on that, but the people I met were pretty unique. There was this one couple who apparently work at some radio station here in Colorado… And there was this guy, this poor guy, who lived in a two-bedroom apartment with _seven children_. Can you imagine that? Seven kids!"

Mrs. Flax took a pot off the stove as she listened, and only replied under her breath, "Interesting."

He didn't know why that one word was so terrifying to him, but it really, _really_ was. Where the hell was Holly?

"What would you say the appropriate amount of children is?" she then asked, as she dropped the pot on the counter, cutting in front of him as he tried to carry the dishes over to the table. She turned to face him head-on, eyes deep and serious, though her lips were curved up in a playful way.

Now he was dumbstruck, unsure of what to say to make this better or worse. She was going to hate his answer, no matter what — but he couldn't just change the subject.

"Well, I'd want to have four," he admitted, his hands trembling under a stack of plates and silverware. "That's just me."

"Have you considered what Holly wants?" she asked pointedly, eyebrows raised. She was not pulling any punches.

He could hear footsteps upstairs, and he prayed that it was Holly and her father coming down to rescue him. In the meantime, he tried to speak slowly, to waste time. "Holly… I haven't asked her yet, but she has told me, um, that she wants kids. Kids, plural, so… I mean, I'm flexible."

"If she wanted zero kids, would you be willing to do that?" Mrs. Flax continued without missing a beat.

He swallowed. "Y-yes, I… I want to give her what she wants. Is- is there a problem?"

"No," she said quickly, and stepped out of his way. "No, there's no problem. I'm just getting to know you — that's all."

As soon as he was free, he rushed around the counter to set the table, and to engage her no further. She was looking for blood already, and until Holly came down, he needed to do as little damage as possible. So he kept his head down and passed out the plates.

Nothing was said for quite a while as they worked in the same room but quite separately, preparing for what would likely be a very awkward dinner. He was anxious to hear footsteps coming down the stairs, but nothing. He was dying down here, and _nothing_.

"Listen…"

Michael tensed up, looking over at Mrs. Flax with raised eyebrows. She looked genuine as she continued, "I'm sure you're probably a good man, but all I know about you is that a little over a year ago, my daughter called me heartbroken, _torn apart_ , because of something that happened between you two. Now, you've been together again for only a month or two, and you're already engaged — and that seems hard to believe to me."

 _Heartbroken_ — that stuck with him, because she'd been the one to break up with him. He hadn't thought she was that invested in their relationship yet.

Finally, he heard the footsteps, coming down and down to the bottom floor one at a time. But he was already trapped in a very bad position, without a thing to say. And he was sweating.

"I…" he began, lost for words. "I know it's a little fast, but-"

"It's very fast," she cut him off, "and I don't trust it. I don't trust you."

"Well, you can," he said — and he lowered his voice as he heard the other two coming off the final steps. "Because I love Holly, more than I've ever loved anything… ever. I would _never_ hurt her."

"You'd better not," Mrs. Flax replied smartly as she stepped closer. Holly's laugh interrupted her, and she turned toward the sound, sighing. "Holly is a very trusting person - too trusting, I think, and it gets her hurt. If I ever have to see someone treat her the way that asshole A.J.-"

"-is where the party's at, huh?" Mr. Flax announced loudly as he entered the room, with Holly in tow. Michael looked up toward him, mind racing and too distracted to immediately react to the man — the slightly rounder, slightly kinder Flax parent, with a smile matching Holly's perfectly — but when he came to his senses, his eyes lit up.

"Mr. Flax!" Michael greeted him, walking up with a hand already reaching out. He tried to remain very active in the present, though his mind was still halfway caught in Mrs. Flax's remark. _That asshole A.J.? The way he_ _ **what**_ _?_

The man looked at him with confusion, and over at Holly. "Who'd you bring now?"

Holly's smile grew wider as she bit her lip and nodded toward Michael. "This is Michael," she said, swinging her arm out in gesture, "my fiance."

The way she said that, with such pride, and a hint of bashfulness, made his heart flutter a little bit — though it was already doing that before. He kept his hand in the air, waiting. "Michael Scott, sir. Good to meet you."

With only a moment's hesitance, Mr. Flax finally shook his hand. "Howard Flax, and yes, it is. My daughter's been talking our ears off about you; it's about time we actually saw you."

Michael smiled down at the floor, feeling both embarrassed and happy to have been discussed. "Well, I hope I live up to your expectations."

"Well, I don't see any tattoos," Mr. Flax remarked humorously. "So I'm already pleased."

Holly wrinkled her forehead. "Dad, I've never dated anyone with tattoos."

"I know," he said, "but they're everywhere. Everyone has them." And glancing over Holly's shoulder, he added, "Your mother has one."

Mrs. Flax's mouth fell open. "Howie!"

"No, she doesn't!" Holly said in disbelief, eyes wide, looking between her father and her mother, hair whipping back and forth. "Do you?"

Mrs. Flax, with eyebrows raised and gaze lowering to the counter casually, leaning on her hand, replied quietly, "One."

Holly laughed out loud, which made Michael laugh. " _Mom!_ "

"What? Can't I have a wild side?"

"You told me tattoos were evil when I was growing up!"

"You wanted a My Little Pony tattoo, damn it," Mrs. Flax protested. "It would have been evil for me to let you."

Michael smiled in surprise. "You liked My Little Pony?" he asked Holly, mouth open. When she looked at him, he sent her a teasing look.

"A little bit," she insisted.

"A _lot_ ," Mr. Flax said. Mrs. Flax burst into laughter.

"Aha!" Michael announced, pointing at her with a wide grin. "There it is! Something embarrassing about your childhood. I got it."

"There's more where that came from," Mrs. Flax replied smartly, nudging Holly's arm.

Holly turned pink. "Oh, god, please don't."

"Let's not embarrass her to death, Annie," Mr. Flax jumped to her aid, shaking his head. "Not yet, anyway."

But Holly didn't seem to be in too much pain, now grinning shyly at Michael with her hands rubbing at the blush on her face the way she always did. And it made him blush a bit, just watching her look so lovely — smile so brightly, in a youthful way that he didn't see too much back in Scranton. Something about being with her family — or perhaps her father in particular — made her so strangely brilliant.

And at the moment, although he had so many questions circling in his mind — why Mrs. Flax already hated him, or how Mr. Flax had dementia when he seemed so lucid, or what the _hell_ A.J. had done to Holly — he was happy. He felt so impossibly grateful, just to be in her life.

* * *

 _ **I can't tell if this story is better or worse than I remembered - but it's definitely different. Parts of myself are palpable in it. It's a little unnerving.**_

 _ **Thanks for the reviews & follows, also. I hope you enjoy what you find.**_


	4. The Will Was Strong

**Chapter IV**

 **The Will Was Strong**

* * *

 _The will was strong, but my legs were weak._

 _I could not walk and I could not speak._

\- "Please" by Sawyer Fredericks.

* * *

The evening had gone over better than he'd anticipated, but he was still relieved when the night ended and he found himself hidden in the guest room, alone.

Dinner hadn't been half as awkward as he'd feared. Though he'd been scared to sit between Holly and her mother — her mother who sent scrutinizing looks his way every time he said something, training him not to speak unless addressed — the quick-witted joking between Holly and Mr. Flax was so entertaining that he'd hardly felt nervous by the time dessert came out. And they were both so welcoming that now, he almost felt as though he could find a place in this family.

And _damn,_ did he want to find one.

Anyway, conversation had moved into the living room, and at that point Mr. Flax had gone to bed. Holly seemed to be just as close to her mother, though in a different way, and because of that, their conversation was a bit exclusive. She'd really been trying to keep Michael involved, but when the moment came that she set him free — telling him he "looked tired," to which he replied, "jet lag," to which she insisted that he go to bed — he took the opportunity and ran with it. Twenty minutes later, and he was still awake, not tired at all. And she was still in the living room.

Even though he'd spent the whole evening with her, he missed her. He loved talking to her so much, but her parents had taken two-thirds of her attention, leaving him wanting a little. Plus, he felt uncomfortable showing too much physical affection in front of her family, so he was starved for touch. And he'd thought after he got to Colorado, he wouldn't feel that way anymore.

He wasn't upset with her for it, of course. They'd just got here, and she'd spent much more time with him in the past few years than she had with her parents. But that didn't keep him from envying her parents — especially her mother, who seemed to be keeping Holly away on purpose.

" _I don't trust it. I don't trust you."_

Michael didn't know what the woman wanted from him. He'd already proposed and moved down to another state to make a life with her. It wasn't even that sudden of a decision! He'd wanted to marry her since he met her, _years_ ago. He'd waited for her while she dated other people, and nearly got engaged to A.J…

A.J.

" _If I ever have to see someone treat her the way that asshole A.J…"_

She'd been about to finish before Holly had come back, and for the life of him, Michael couldn't stop thinking about it. A.J. had always seemed perfectly nice to him. If he'd ever thought that Holly's boyfriend was mistreating her, or _hurting_ her, god forbid, he would have done something. It couldn't have been anything like that.

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs — Holly's, unmistakably. He finished pulling his shirt down, while looking at himself in the mirror, into his own eyes.

It was strange, looking into a different mirror at night.

Holly then knocked at the door, which was also strange. She never had to knock.

"Who goes there?" he asked with a bit of a smile.

In floated a weak, high-pitched voice. " _Only a 'umble peasant girl in need of a place to rest 'er 'ead."_

He lowered his voice to a gruff tone and replied, "Come in, peasant girl, an' take lodging for the night!"

" _Gladly, good sir!"_ she said, and opened the door, peeking her head inside.

When he saw her, he felt all the anxious air built up in his chest suddenly escape, his shoulders sinking, a smile spreading on his face. Her eyes were sparkling, lips still stuck in a smile and cheekbones so adorable — and unkissed. He wanted to resolve that.

"Hey," he greeted, rising to his feet. Looking her over, he opened his mouth to ask how it had went downstairs; but she was too fast.

"Tonight was amazing," she said without missing a beat as she lingered at the doorway, and slowly started into the room. "I'm… on Cloud Nine right now."

Michael raised his eyebrows, a smile subconsciously covering his face. "I can see that."

Holly chuckled at that, slowly approaching him. "I know! I can't stop smiling," she admitted, beaming wildly with every step nearer to him. "I'm just so _relieved,_ you know? I mean, my mom's such a handful and my dad usually isn't this lucid, and it seems like the more I care about someone, the more likely Mom will scare them off."

"Oh, I believe you," he replied quickly, nodding. He'd only known Mrs. Flax for a few hours and he was already scared out of his wits.

At that, Holly seemed nervous, and her hands reached for his tentatively. "She didn't scare you off, did she?" she checked, eyebrows raised in concern. She pulled their hands up to her chest, holding them to her heart as though she could hold him there. "I mean, you haven't changed your mind, right?"

No matter how terrified he really was, that was a silly question. "Of course not," he insisted as he rubbed her fingers between his. "And I do like your parents. Your dad's hilarious."

She smiled again. "I knew you two would hit it off. And it seemed like he really likes you, too. Mom will come around."

He swallowed, not replying to that. _I hope so._

"What did you guys talk about while Dad and I were upstairs?" Holly then asked, and she must not have known what kind of Pandora's box she was about to open there. There were plenty of things he could tell her about that conversation — plenty of questions to ask, about their breakup and _A.J._ and why the hell her Mom was so biased against him. He almost did.

But she was smiling, and not only with her mouth, but with her eyes and every other muscle in her body. The way she looked at him was so full of happiness and love, as she stood so close to him, playing with his fingers. She was blissfully ignorant, and he didn't want to take that away.

"We talked about the future," he said, not lying but simply redirecting. He stared down into her eyes as he paused, hands squeezing hers. "About kids. I told her I wanted four, but I don't know if that's- I don't know how many you want. I just had the idea in my head, I guess, that we'd have four. Anyway, stuff like that."

"That sounds great," she said as her lips crept a little closer to his.

"Yeah, well, I don't know what she thought, but…"

"Put me down for four," she added. And that, coming as a complete surprise, had his mind completely floored.

And in that moment, he didn't feel that he needed to respond. He didn't feel that he needed to say or do anything, except to slip his fingers out from hers so that he could hold her by the waist — loosely at first, but more tightly the closer she grew to his lips, in anticipation… Her eyes seemed a bit dreamy, drifting closed at the instant when his lips landed on hers, brushing softly over her skin as though she were a ghost, hardly touchable and barely there. Then he dove in for another, leaning farther down to kiss her more deeply, more slowly. His teeth grazed against her lower lip just before she pulled back — and he released her reluctantly.

"Michael," she whispered, and he was prepared to hear it. They weren't supposed to have sex here; he remembered that now. He wanted to kiss her again just to keep her from saying it — because her energy was electrifying right now, and he really, _really_ wanted her. Why was fate so cruel?

"Thank you."

He hadn't realized his eyes were closed in anticipation, until he opened them to look at her. She was still grinning, lips reddening and eyes sparkling. He raised his eyebrows. "You're welcome," he whispered, peering into her eyes. "For what?"

Holly just shook her head. "You made tonight _perfect_. You've made this whole move so perfect, and so…" She inhaled a shallow breath. "Easy."

He blinked. "Oh. Well, yeah, I… I try."

"'Do or do not,'" she caught him, in her adorable Yoda voice. "'There is no try.'"

And Michael did not find puppets sexy, but that right there was so sexy that he didn't even waste time trying to think of something smart to say back. He pulled her back to his lips with one motion, kissing her widely. The corners of his mouth tickled against hers as he felt her incessant smile reappear, and he laughed into her lips, and she laughed with him.

After a moment, Michael expected her to retreat, for the sake of the no-sex rule — but she didn't, strangely, and he wasn't about to remind her to do it. He slipped his hands beneath the back of her shirt to feel her skin under his hands as he felt her tongue meeting his mouth, catching him by surprise. He sighed, a little drunk on her lips, and inched her back toward the bed. Then, she seemed to come to her senses.

"Wait," she muttered while halfway between kisses, and took a moment to stop herself — only long enough to take a breath and whisper, "Michael."

"I know," he breathed, not wanting to hear her say it.

"We have to be quiet," she said instead. Her eyes had a teasing glint in them as she bit her swollen lips, watching him. "Seriously, extremely quiet."

Michael inhaled a short breath, pausing to realize what she was saying — and then he bobbed his head. "All right. Yeah!"

"Okay," she said with a laugh, returning to the kiss instantly, and began pushing him toward the bed.

* * *

 _ **I'm glad at least a few people are enjoying this so far. From here out, you'll see some liberties taken with Michael's and Holly's families, and past relationships. It should all fit into canon information though. Thanks for the reviews and follows/favs.**_


	5. I Have Dreams of Orca Whales

**Chapter V**

 **I Have Dreams of Orca Whales**

* * *

 _I have dreams of orca whales and owls,_

 _But I wake up in fear, that you will never be my dear…_

\- "Hotel Song" by Regina Spektor.

* * *

Holly had never thought in her entire life that anything or anyone could make her _parents' house_ feel like heaven.

She was wrong.

When she'd woken this morning, she had already shaken that original confusion of living in a new place. She was not surprised to see the arched white ceiling of the guest room, and the large vanity mirror across the room reminding herself of how very wild her hair could look in the mornings. It was not strange to smell something cooking in the kitchen, since her mother was such an early riser — and usually the one to wake her in the first place. It was by now quite typical to feel the unusual softness of the linens on the bed, brushing over her skin as she propped herself a bit, to peer at herself in the mirror.

This was the first morning, however, that she saw in the mirror, like a pleasant daydream, a leg peeking out from the sheets, lazily wrapped around her to keep her bare body warm. She was almost frightened, head turning abruptly to see who was in her bed. After a week of sleeping alone, she had nearly forgotten how nice it was to share a bed with the love of her life.

Michael always looked especially handsome in the mornings, and Holly wasn't sure why. Something about his warmth — his arm draped over her, bare chest snuggled up against her back, head resting so peacefully on a sea of pillows — was enchanting to her. On some mornings, if she was lucky, she would wake up to his deep breaths tickling her shoulder, sending her skin up in goosebumps… And this was one of those mornings.

She had never loved him so much.

Although she knew he would want to be woken for breakfast, Holly put it off for a minute or two, giving herself a moment to enjoy this. The memories of last night were coming back one and all now, and her cheeks were sore when a smile spread over her face. It was the perfect reunion — _both times_ — and it had reminded her of just how terribly she'd missed him. One week had felt like an eternity.

And thank god that from here on out, it was forever.

As gently as she could, Holly turned around in his embrace to see him better. She settled down under the sheets again as shivers threatened her shoulders — but Michael's embrace was so warm, and she relaxed back into him easily. Sneaking a hand up out from his hug, she reached up to touch his face… running her finger down the side of his hairline and along the stubble of his jaw, just admiring him. When his nose twitched, she couldn't keep from laughing to herself.

With that, she'd woken him. He stirred slightly, hand curling up on her back and eyes squeezing tightly against the soft light coming through the window behind the bed. He drew a deep breath, and his eyes slowly opened…

Then he looked up at her with sleepy eyes, and her smile widened. "Hey," she greeted softly, running her hand down the back of his head.

He grinned, drawing her against his chest. "How _you_ doing?"

"I'm doing good, baby," she replied naturally. "How _you_ doing?"

"I'm doing good, baby," he said; and paused, lips parted as if to go on. But instead, he sighed contentedly, eyes staring into hers. He stayed this way for a long moment, until she'd completely lost her breath.

"Stop looking at me like that," she insisted, blushing. Her naked legs slipped around his, reeling him in beneath the sheets with a playful expression on her face. "I might never get out of bed."

"Well, I might never let you," he said with raised eyebrows. As he ran his hands up from her hip, his fingers tickled a bit at her ribcage, his eyes bright. "I lost seven mornings like this. You have to stay here all day."

She chuckled, running her foot up his leg. "I missed you," she whispered. Her lips sneaked up to his chin, leaving a featherlight kiss there. " _So_ much."

"I missed you more," he argued as his hands brushed along the sensitive skin just above her stomach…

"I missed you most."

"I missed you… to infinity."

Holly raised her eyebrow, kissing up toward his ear. "I missed you-"

A knock came at the bedroom door, cutting her sentence in half as her head jumped up from the pillows, looking up at the door. Was that her mother?

" _Knock, knock. It's your wake-up call."_

Yes, it was. She hadn't even heard her coming upstairs.

Holly tugged the blankets up high above their shoulders, sighing. "I guess we ought to get up," she whispered as she turned back to Michael. She wondered if her disappointment showed on her face.

He frowned, but started up no less. "Then we'll have to get in the shower, too." Glancing down at her, he added, "That's gonna suck."

A smile twitching at her lips, she sat up, too. "Oh, yeah. I hate showers. They're so naked, and wet."

"Sounds like the _worst_ ," he mock-complained as he slipped out of the sheets completely. "I _hate_ seeing you naked."

" _Did you two not get enough already?_ _"_

When Holly heard her mother's voice again, her stomach sank and her jaw dropped. Her face heated up in _complete_ embarrassment. _Oh, my_ _ **god**_ …

Avoiding Michael's gaze completely, she shouted through the door, "Mom?"

" _Yeah?"_

"Please go away," she said with as much restraint possible, though her voice shook a little bit. Her eyes accidentally crossed Michael's, who looked at her widely. She bit her lip hard, adding quietly, "I'm so sorry. She's just… _wow_."

"It's okay," he reassured her with a small smile, though he looked just as embarrassed. He glanced at the bathroom door, swallowing. "Do you… do you want me to just…"

"Go ahead," she said, sighing.

"Okay," Michael said quickly. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she called after him, watching him as he wrapped his robe over his shoulders and walked into the bathroom. Once the door shut, she covered her face, rubbing at the pinkness on her face. She fell back onto the bed with a loud sigh.

She was going to kill her mother.

* * *

 _ **Sorry for the late update today. I'm kinda surprised I kept going for five chapters without chickening out - but I guess I'm committed now. Thanks, all.**_


	6. I Am Not Scared of the Elements

**Chapter VI**

 **I Am Not Scared of the Elements**

* * *

 _I am not scared of the elements;_

 _I am under-prepared, but I am willing,_

 _And even better… I get to be the other half of you._

\- "I Choose You" by Sara Bareilles.

* * *

Though she'd heard plenty of awful stories about it, Holly had yet to experience the "walk of shame" after sex. And her first one…

Her first one was at her parents' house.

It wasn't that she was ashamed of it at all, because she certainly wasn't. Not only was Michael her fiance, and therefore their sexual interactions were perfectly appropriate, but they had been separated for a week; they had deserved a proper reunion. And more than that, both she and Michael had sacrificed a good deal to come live with her parents, to care for them in their older age. And Holly was a _grown woman_ , damn it! If she wanted to have sex, she could have sex!

The "shame" terminology came mostly from the stare she and Michael received as they walked down the stairs together, toward the kitchen — where her mother was already prepared to send them dirty looks. Also, it came from the nervous way Michael stood a good two or three inches apart from her, and only touched her once, to help her off the last stair. Also, Michael looked a little guilty.

"You don't have to be embarrassed," Holly whispered as they stepped through the living room. "She's the one who should be embarrassed."

"Maybe she meant something different," Michael said, visibly unconvinced by the words. "How could she have heard us last night?"

"No way. You were totally muffled."

"If she heard me having _sex with her daughter_ -" he began, a bit too loudly; he lowered his voice. "She's gonna hate me forever."

"Don't call me 'her daughter,'" Holly practically begged him, already fuming with humiliation. "It's the least-sexy thing you've ever called me."

"I'm not feeling very sexy right now," Michael admitted, stopping near the doorway to look her in the eyes nervously. "I keep looking down to make sure I'm wearing pants!"

"You are.."

"I know that!" he cried in a hushed tone, rubbing his face in such an anxious way that she had to take his hands from him. "This could _not_ -"

" _Are you two feeling hungry?"_

"-be worse," Michael finished, blinking rapidly at the floor, rocking on his feet. "I'm just not gonna talk. You can't let me talk."

"That's… seeming like a good idea," Holly agreed. "But we need to represent a united front, so you have to stick with me on this."

"Why? Do we have to do that?"

"Because if she sees we're more embarrassed than she is, she'll 'suggest' one of us takes the air mattress, and she'll _get what she wants_."

" _You'd better hurry if you're going to_ _ **get any.**_ "

And her mother certainly knew how to _enhance_ shame.

Holly took Michael's hand calmly in hers, though she could feel his hesitation, and guided him into the kitchen. Keeping her head high and her jaw set, she marched up toward the dining table, Michael in tow.

Her father was the first to acknowledge her presence, looking up from his paper to see her entering. "Morning, Holiday," Dad greeted her with a smile. He reached an arm up for a hug, which she accepted gratefully.

"Morning, Dad," she said quietly, smiling. She pulled back to look at him. "How are you?"

"Everything's just fine." He smiled in return, and nodded toward his paper. "Well, not according to Wall Street, but I think so."

He'd said that a couple mornings ago, but she paid it no mind. "I agree."

As she stepped back, she was prepared to face her mother, and she kept her smile on her face purposefully. She stepped up toward the counter slowly, watching her mom's back in front of the stove.

"Who's this now?"

Holly looked back at her father, assuming he was addressing her. "What?" she asked.

Dad nodded toward Michael, who lingered behind her with his arm stretched out as far as he could manage, not letting go of her hand but not following her. "Is this a friend?"

Holly's eyebrows shot up in surprise, her lips stalling to make words as she realized that he did not remember meeting Michael. "Uh… um. That's, that's Michael, Dad. My fiance," she reminded him gently as he eyes shifted toward Michael's.

His eyes then lit up in recognition, seeming to remember now. She sighed in relief.

"Well, Holly's been talking our ears off about you, Michael. It's nice to finally meet you face-to-face."

This phrase was familiar, because he'd said virtually the same thing last night, when he'd met Michael the first time. Something sank in Holly's chest.

He didn't remember that one. But that was okay - this was all new right now. It was fine.

So she let Michael go then, though she didn't want to do it, sending him a reassuring look. "I'll let you two talk for a minute," she said, knowing this would come as a relief to Michael. She could see the evidence of it when he nodded at her, his eyes brightening a little bit. She nodded back at him, trusting him to help her father remember some of the things he'd lost overnight.

Alone, now, she rounded the counter to meet her mother, who was still busying herself with ignoring Holly to the fullest extent. Holly crossed her arms, watching her mother for a moment as though she expected her to stop and talk to her. When she didn't, Holly started.

"Do we need to talk about what happened last night?" Holly asked, more of a suggestion than a question.

Finally, Mom actually acknowledged her presence. "I don't know what you're talking about, hon."

Holly winced, and fortunately, her mother hadn't been looking to catch it. She inhaled a deep, patient breath, and let it go. "I knew you would be uncomfortable with our… I knew."

"And you did it anyway," Mom said, turning to send Holly a slightly amused, slightly bitter expression. "I appreciate that."

"Mom," Holly said abruptly, her tone getting to that place she knew her mother would hate. "I am an adult, and I am in a healthy relationship-"

"For once."

"-with someone I love," she finished, in spite of her mother's acerbic comment. Holly turned so that her back was slightly to Michael, not wanting him to see her fighting with her mother. "We are committed. We are engaged. We are _happy._ "

"I'm happy for you."

"And although I respect you and your wishes," Holly continued, tone more clipped, "I believe that Michael and I deserve some personal rights as two engaged people."

"It's my house, Hol," Mom interjected. "If something makes me uncomfortable, I shouldn't have to sit on my hands and put up with it."

Holly's eyes widened, and she had to stop herself from snapping. She looked back at Michael — who was being so kind to her father as they spoke — and reminded herself that this was not about her and her mother. This was about her and Michael.

"We weren't being loud, Mom," Holly eventually said, ignoring the uncomfortable nature of this conversation. "We were trying to be respectful of your feelings, and I don't think you've been doing the same for us."

Her mother seemed bothered by that, dropping her spoon on the stovetop a bit loudly. "Oh, and what have _I_ done?"

"I never asked for a _wake-up call_ ," Holly pointed out first, "and I was definitely not expecting you to hang out outside our door and listen to our conversation… and then to _comment_ on our…"

"Your what, Holly?" Mom challenged, pursing her lips. "If it's perfectly fine and not embarrassing at all, just say it."

"Mom, Michael and I are in love." Holly's voice had risen a bit by then, so she lowered it, resisting the urge to look back to see if Michael was overhearing any of this. She looked her mother in the eye, controlling her frustration as she continued, "And I think it's awfully hypocritical of you to pass judgment on us. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to count backwards from my _birthday_."

Saying that might not have been the best decision.

"Okay!" Her mom tossed her wooden spoon into the sink, leaving the pancake mix unfinished on the stove as she stepped past Holly and towards the doorway. "Fine. Have it your way."

" _Mom,"_ Holly groaned, having hoped not to make a big scene out of this. But that was out the window now.

"You can do what you want, Holly," Mom announced, turning back to add something, as always. "Just remember you're doing it on my bed, in _my_ sheets."

"Okay," Holly said simply, clenching her jaw to refrain from saying anything else.

"Okay."

Her mother then exited the room, marching through the living room and, eventually, as they could all prominently hear, up the stairs.

Holly wanted to groan at the whole thing, _loudly_ , but she already felt as though the argument had been advertised enough. So she turned around instead, saying nothing at all, and grabbed the half-full bowl of pancake mix. She was starving.

Her anger didn't find any relief as she beat the eggs one by one into the mix, splashing a little bit with her enthusiasm for the project. She supposed it was more productive than stomping around like her mother, but she didn't know how these pancakes were going to turn out. She didn't know if she'd have an appetite for them, either, with such frustration burning in her throat…

"… and then I took her over to the break room…"

She could overhear bits and pieces of Michael's conversation with her father, down at the table, now that it was quiet again. She felt bad for interrupting whatever they were discussing. They were being much kinder to each other.

"… worked at the office, all holding candles — and then they each asked her if she would marry them."

That sounded familiar. Holly stopped beating the batter, to listen for a moment.

"She said 'no' to everyone else, of course," Michael continued. There was a shy smile on his face, which Holly found quite adorable, as he told a story which seemed particularly interesting to Dad. "But when I took her back to her office — she worked back in the annex, and everyone pitched in to buy a _bunch_ of candles to put all over the place…"

Holly's expression softened, her hand relaxing on the handle of the whisk. She inhaled softly.

"Unfortunately, all those candles… made the sprinklers go off, so we all got really soaked before I'd even asked the question."

Her father laughed, sounding quite entertained. Holly smiled a bit, and her heartbeat quickened a little bit.

"Anyway, I asked her if she would marry me, and — well, obviously, she said 'yes.' And after that, we announced to everyone at work that we were moving here." Michael smiled as he finished the story, shrugging his shoulders.

"That's great," Dad said, shaking his head at the younger man. "I wish I'd had enough time to make a proposal like that to Annie."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Why not?"

Holly didn't actually know what he was referencing, so she set the bowl down on the counter and approached the table quietly, so as not to interrupt. She listened quietly as her father recalled the answer.

"Well, when we realized we wanted to get married, I was about to head out for a tour - my second one. She was torn up, you know — so mad that I was gonna leave her. Scared I might not make it back. The night before I had to go, she broke up with me, and told me she never wanted to see me again. And she cursed me out a good bit," he added with a laugh.

Holly bit her lip as she watched him. She was amazed that he remembered something like that so clearly.

"But later that night, I came over to her house and climbed up the side of her building. I think I broke a window, but I guess her parents weren't home, so I didn't get caught. But I… I knocked on her window, and she was so shocked to see me, just standing there outside her room — clinging on the side of the building like a cat hiding from the rain or something. And she wouldn't let me in, so I had to tell her through the glass that I was sorry I had to go… and that I loved her."

"Wow," Michael replied. "Did she take you back?"

"Nope," her dad said, shaking his head firmly. "She told me to go home. I thought we were done."

"But you weren't," Michael reasoned.

Dad chuckled. "Well, no, we weren't — because as I was about to leave the next morning, she must have changed her mind. I started down the driveway, and she sprinted up and grabbed the rearview mirror of my brand-new car - dented it pretty bad, too. And she told me she loved me. And she… she asked me if, when I got back, I would marry her."

"And you said 'yes.'"

"Yes, I did," her father replied, nodding his head at Michael. "And I made it back from my tour. We got married shortly after that, and then Holly was born…"

Upon saying that, both her father and Michael seemed to remember that she was there, and turned to find her closer than they'd expected. She was a little teary, though she tried to hide it with a wide smile. "Hey."

"Sorry for hogging your fiance," Dad said. "I guess you guys have something to do today, right?"

Holly bobbed her head. "Actually, we were going to do some shopping," she said, more toward Michael than toward her father. "But we'll be back sometime this evening. Maybe we can all play a board game or watch a movie, or something."

Michael shrugged his shoulders, glancing back at her dad. "That sounds like fun to me."

"I think that can be arranged," Dad agreed. Then he stood up from the table, folding up his newspaper. "But I've gotta go check on Annie, so you two — have a good shopping trip, and be back in time for Pictionary, okay?"

Smiling between the two, Holly reached out to give Michael a hand up. "We will," she assured him. "I love you."

Though she'd been looking at her father, that went for Michael, too. These two were the only things keeping her sane in this house.

* * *

 _ **So Holly and her mother are both strong-willed women and that's gonna show throughout the story. I completely forgot about her parents' proposal story until I read this chapter today, but it's probably one of my favorites. Finding the right balance of human & healthy for Holly's parents was an important part of this project, so hopefully that shows itself consistently. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**_


	7. Heaven is a Place on Earth with You

**Chapter VII**

 **Heaven is a Place on Earth with You**

* * *

 _It's you, it's you, it's all for you,_

 _Everything I do. I tell you all the time._

 _Heaving is a place on earth with you._

 _Tell me all the things you want to do._

\- "Video Games" by Lana Del Rey.

* * *

"Ooh, these are soft…"

Holly's voice came from behind the ceiling-high shelves of Bed, Bath, and Beyond — otherwise known as the biggest shopping maze Michael had ever seen. He had never been able to figure out the store back in Scranton, and that one had been much smaller than this. Plus, Holly kept running off to see things and letting him get lost. At this point, he'd been holding her hand pretty tightly, just to make sure she wouldn't get distracted and wander off without him. But once they'd reached the linen aisle, he'd lost her again.

"Let me feel," he called over toward her voice, carrying his own new find — a self-cooling pillow, which sounded much more valuable than sheets. He didn't know if she'd be up for it, since they had agreed not to spend too much money today. Neither of them were employed, after all; and they were saving up for a house of their own, slowly.

On some level, he was aware that they were only buying their own sheets to make a point to Mrs. Flax. He thought that was a little silly, but he didn't want to intrude on Holly's issues with her mother. Apparently, they'd been fighting all week, about things he didn't even know yet. He didn't really know how to help with that.

He _did_ know that since this morning, Holly had been a bit bummed. He didn't know if it was something her dad said, or her fight with her mom, or both, but she was definitely in low spirits, though she pretended to be. So he tried to make this fun for her.

Michael finally found her at the far end of the section, holding sheets in her hands, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. He came up quietly with the pillow behind his back and reached out his free hand. "Let me feel."

She turned to hand him the sheet, and he reached through the hole in the bag to feel. His eyebrows shot up. "Holy- I didn't know sheets could be that soft! Let's get those."

"Oh, we can't," Holly admitted, setting the bag back on the shelf. "They're really expensive. Did you see any?"

Glancing down, he replied, "No, but I found something else."

She then noticed the hand behind his back, smiling suspiciously. "What?"

That was when he pulled out the memory-foam, still-cold, probably expensive now that he thought about it, pillow. He watched her eyes run over the package, so immediately that he didn't even need to explain the product to her… or the price.

"I've never seen one of these," she remarked as she reached to feel the pillow's temperature — and her eyes widened. "Wow. Do you think it stays that cold all night?"

Surprised that she didn't point out its price, he replied, "Well, I just laid my head on it for a solid two minutes and it didn't heat up… but we don't need it."

"You're always getting so warm at night, though," she pointed out, meeting his eyes. "It's not that expensive. Get it."

"We're saving money," Michael reminded her.

"But you want it," she protested with a grin, and nudged him playfully. "Come on. I want to get you something."

"Let's get the sheets, instead." He looked up to where she'd left them on the shelf, trying to find them again.

Holly set her hand on his arm to stop him. "Those are way more expensive than this."

"Well, if you get me the pillow, then I'll have to get you something," he argued. When she started to protest, he held his hand up, cutting her off. "Sorry. I don't make the rules."

"Then pick something less expensive, at least," she said as she pulled the pillow out of his hands, setting it in the shopping cart. "Nothing higher than this pillow. That's my rule."

His mouth opened, expecting a different answer than this, and he stopped himself. The rule was fair, he supposed; it gave him a little creative room, too. They were just at the beginning of their shopping trip, so there would be many more things to come. "From any store?"

"Yep," she said with a mischievous look. "And if you don't want the pillow, you know, I could look for something for you, too."

Michael did want the pillow, though he didn't _need_ it right now — but the playfulness in her tone suggested that this would turn into a little game, and he liked that idea better. If it cheered her up in the meantime, that wouldn't hurt, either. "Okay," he decided, and took the pillow out of the cart, to stuff it on some random shelf. "But I must warn you, I'm a pretty fantastic gift-giver. I've been told that, many times in my life, so… Good luck."

She turned to walk forward again, Michael coming up beside her, and the way she walked so slowly seemed a bit cocky. "You may be a good gift-giver, but you know, you have a bad habit."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Holly looked back to smile at him. "You tell me _everything_ you want. Every commercial, every store we pass by — you point it out to me. And I have a pretty good memory," she added with a wink.

His eyebrows peaked, a smile creeping over his serious expression, and he laughed. "Okay. Well, we'll just see. We'll just see who is the ultimate gift-giver. The Ultimate Gifting Champion, if you will."

"I will," she said. She smiled at him for a moment, eyes staring into his thoughtfully as she paused; and then, she added, "I already have my first idea."

His mouth opened. "No, you don't!"

"Yes, I do."

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you," she said. They finally escaped the linens area and now walked down toward the end of the store, as it had all been explored already — even the scented candle aisle, which had taken them three times as long as any other aisle. "You might try to hide it."

Michael hadn't thought about that, but it was a good idea. "I would not. Scout's honor."

She pursed her lips at him. "Were you a scout?."

"Come on!"

"Let's get some lunch," she changed the topic abruptly, while rolling up to the line at the counter. "We're pretty close to the food court. Any specific food in mind?"

Michael stopped walking to consider this for a moment, glancing away in thought, and shook his head. "Nope. Shall we roam?"

"If you want to," she offered, the next lyric.

Michael grinned, and slid his arm around her, leaning a bit on her while they waited.

Once they were checked out, each holding one shopping bag as they walked hand-in-hand out of the store, they took to the food court — which truly was close to them already. Michael wasn't at first paying attention as they stepped past the first places, as his mind was already scrambling for gift ideas that he could find in the mall. He hadn't looked closely at the map, so he didn't remember exactly what was here. He was sure he would think of something.

He only realized what they were doing when he heard Holly mumbling to herself, almost unintelligibly, what he assumed to be the names of the places they were passing — her eyes up and scanning every sign, then looking down at the food — feet slowing every once and a while to inhale the scent of tacos or cookies. He tried to think about lunch, but he was too caught up in watching her.

Really, he always found himself watching her as she did random stuff throughout the day. Sometimes his neck would hurt a little at the end of the day, because of her.

"Hey," he said softly, grabbing her attention. She looked up at him.

"What?"

As they slowed down somewhat, he leaned in to whisper, "Did you know, that… you look really pretty today?"

He loved to make her blush with things like that — and her smile was pretty good, too. "Thank you," she said shyly, hand squeezing his. As they passed by a Chinese restaurant, Holly stopped to look up at the menu; and she glanced at him. "Did _you_ know that you can get snow peas at a Chinese restaurant?"

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Well, that defeats the whole purpose, doesn't it? It's too healthy."

Holly shrugged. "I wanna try it."

So they decided on Chinese, then, and Holly went to order for them while Michael looked for a table. It seemed that everyone in Colorado had come to the mall at the same time, stuffing the food court at lunchtime and leaving very little room for two more people. At first, he'd worried that they might not find a place. It would be pretty difficult to eat Chinese on their feet — especially if Michael had to try to use chopsticks…

But he eventually spotted a table on the other side of this gigantic fountain right in the middle of the food court, and he hurried to take it before anyone else could. He was lucky not to be one of those suckers standing in line right now.

Michael sat down, dropping the bags in the opposite chair, and exhaled. Holly would be on her way back soon with their ticket, so in the meantime, he sat back and relaxed.

He really wished Holly and her mother hadn't gotten into an argument today. He'd been hoping to ask her about A.J. at some point, but now, he didn't feel that it was an appropriate time. He was still looking for an opening, of course. There just wasn't any.

It really wasn't any of his business, and he knew that, but he also didn't care. If A.J. or anyone else had done something to hurt her, he wanted to know, even if there was nothing he could do about it.

And he was curious as to why she hadn't told him yet, if something had happened. He'd told her plenty about Jan and the wreck she'd been. In fact, they'd not only discussed that relationship; they worked together and resolved some of it. He'd gotten over some of his trust issues — including that problem where he was afraid to go near her during a fight, because Jan used to hit him when she got really mad.

He hoped Holly trusted him the same way.

Here she came now, with a lighter expression, and slid the bags off her chair to sit. "They said it should be ready in a few minutes," Holly informed him. "I didn't realize how hungry I was until I started reading that menu. My stomach keeps growling."

" _Rrr…"_ Michael imitated, in a low, Sesame Street imitation. " _More cookies. I want cookies."_

" _The_ _ **first**_ _cluuee,"_ Holly jumped right in with her slow-mo Kermit voice, " _is that it is something… roouuund."_

Then he mimicked her voice, shaking his head angrily. " _ **No**_ _, it's not a cookie!"_

" _It's an oooorange!"_ Holly wailed.

" _It's an_ _ **oooooorange**_ _!"_

Holly was the first to break character, laughing hard at his squeaky Kermit voice, hand landing on the table soundly. Michael laughed at her laughter, a bit loudly, drawing attention from the others seated nearby. Holly laughed at _that_.

"People are staring," she said between giggles.

Michael waved his hand at them, muttering, "Go back to your business, people. Nothing to see here."

Still grinning widely, she reached for her phone, looking down at the screen. As though she'd had some sort of psychic power, her phone buzzed, and her eyebrow raised. Then she unlocked her phone, and said no more.

Normally, he would have brought out his own phone and gotten busy on Facebook while she did whatever she was doing; this was happening frequently the past couple of weeks while she was looking for H.R. positions in the state, even prior to the move. But he observed her for a moment, mind wandering as he thought about how happy she looked right now. He wished she could be that happy at home, too.

So, in the full knowledge that it might ruin the afternoon with her, or at least dull her high spirits, he said what was on his mind.

"I don't want you and your mom to fight because of me," he admitted nervously as he stared down at his hands on the table. He could feel her eyes on him as he struggled to continue. "It's not worth it, to fight with parents, you know? Especially not over something silly."

Holly was quiet at first, her stare almost tactile to him. Then she reached out to tug his hand, drawing his eyes up to hers. She didn't appear to be angry.

"Our thing this morning wasn't because of you, or anything you did," she reassured him as her finger traced over his, and sighed. "We've been fighting constantly since I came up here. Over silly things, most of the time."

He frowned. "But you guys were having such a good time last night."

Shrugging, she replied softly, "Well, we've always kind of had issues that we just don't… talk about, I guess. That's part of why I moved away."

"Oh," Michael said, though that still wasn't a lot of information. He nodded understandingly, hoping to inspire her to continue. "Is it… for any one reason, or just…?"

Holly shook her head, lips pressed together. "Even when I was growing up, we just didn't always get along. We talk on the phone now and then, but when we're together for a long time, we just start… _bickering_ , and getting mad at each other."

He nodded again. "That's how me and my mom were, after she married Jeff. It just took us some time."

"It's not just the bickering," she continued, frustration building up slightly behind her words as she stared somewhere past his shoulder. "It's like she doesn't think I could have possibly found the right guy by myself, so she sabotages every relationship I'm in. She has never approved of anyone I've been with, and she does her best to make things as difficult as she can _._ And I don't understand _why!_ Why does she have to make things so _impossible_?"

Unsure of what to say, Michael just… nodded, and listened. Holly rarely ranted, or even snapped at anyone, so he imagined a lot of anger got pushed down sometimes. He didn't mind letting her go off on her mom for a minute.

But evidently, Holly had misinterpreted his silence. She sighed, resting her forehead on her fists. "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to dump all this on you."

Michael furrowed his brow. "No, that's- that's okay. Don't worry about it. Keep going."

"It has to be so weird for you," she continued apologetically, despite his insistence. "I just kinda dragged you out of your life and into my family, and the issues, and you didn't really…" She sighed again. "You didn't really sign up for any of this. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, hey, no," he stopped her there. "Quit apologizing. Stop. Look at me."

She looked up, her eyebrows drawn together in equal stress and guilt. She was like a little stress-ball, absorbing all the emotions around her and making them her fault. He frowned at her.

"I wanted to come here," he said clearly as he leaned his elbows on the table. "I wanted to be a part of your family, and I still do… because I love you."

She frowned. "I love you, too."

She still looked so worried, that he had to laugh. "Honey, you don't have to be so scared… like I'm gonna freak out and take off, you know — _go crazy_ , sliding pennies up the wall, 'goodnight, Mary'. I'm _here_ , okay? To work through this with you." Watching for her reaction, he added, "Okay?"

Holly was quiet for a minute, but did eventually nod in agreement. "Okay."

Feeling his muscles relax, the discussion coming to an end, he offered a little smile her way. She returned it, seeming genuine — and that was even more of a relief, because he hadn't wanted to upset her. She had always been much more private than he was, so he was never sure when he was crossing out of his territory or not. Because when it came to him, all territory was shared territory.

Even the darkest of places belonged to her now. That was the kind of safe place he'd always wanted to find, as well as to give to someone else.

* * *

 _ **Honestly, I don't remember half of what the fuck I referenced in this chapter. Also enjoy some Holly-formative-backstory-seeds you didn't ask for. Thanks for your continued reviews and support.**_


	8. I Know Everything's Changing

**Chapter VIII**

 **I Know Everything's Changing**

* * *

 _And I know, everything's changing, but_

 _We'll be strangers if we see this through…_

\- "One" by Ed Sheeran.

* * *

It was a beautiful thing.

After four hours of raiding the mall by nearly every store — broken up by a two-hour movie somewhere in the middle — they'd come home in success, each with the perfect little gift in hand and a big grin on their face. Holly, who'd started the day in a terribly-somber mood, had wound up having a fantastic time on what otherwise might have been a boring or lonely shopping trip.

Their game had gone off without a hitch, and had taken almost the entire six hours that they were out to complete. That was likely due to their shifting strategies, as it became just as much about making it _impossible_ for the other person as it was about winning. All day, every time Holly had seen something she thought she would like, she quickened her step a bit and subtly turned the label away — even once having to toss the cutest stuffed animal over into another aisle when she heard him coming. Then that had become its own game, until they'd been caught by a store clerk and asked to leave.

After a long battle of the wits, searching high and low for Michael's perfect gift, turning away many viable options in pursuit of that _one thing_ which would make his face light up the way she loved — after countless stores and many extremely annoyed shoppers passing by — she'd found it. She'd landed the perfect present.

It was for his office, whenever they should find employment again, and it looked like a lot of fun. She'd managed to find the ultimate desktop sports games — mini-basketball, hockey, bowling, and golf — all wrapped up in one. It even included a soundbox with bits of super-cheesy recorded commentary, which she knew he would love. And she'd found and purchased it without his noticing.

But ultimately, Michael had won the game, or so they'd both decided. At the end of the day, he'd presented to her a Counting Crows poster, from their 2008 tour - their first date that wasn't quite. She'd almost forgotten.

In that moment, receiving the sentimental item, she'd had no choice but to announce him the Ultimate Gifting Champion. That was when they decided to get some dinner and head home.

Now, as Holly pulled up in front of her parents' house once again, she looked at the clock fleetingly and noticed the time. They'd arrived here from the airport about the same time yesterday. The first twenty-four hours of their new life was complete.

"Congratulations," Michael said, as though he'd read her mind. She turned back to look at him as she fished around the backseat for the shopping bags. "First day, complete."

Holly raised her eyebrows in complete surprise, amazed that he'd been thinking the same thing as she. "Congratulations," she said with a smile.

Michael reached out to fist-bump her, and she did the same.

There were things neither of them could reach from the front seat, so they stepped out of the car and both walked around their sides, opening the back doors. They nearly knocked heads as they practically crawled into the backseat to retrieve the bags. Holly blew her hair up in his face playfully before inching back out of the car.

Together they carried the six or seven different shopping bags up the stairs to the front of the house, where they stopped to knock on the locked door.

"I hope Mom didn't cook for us," Holly said in realization, as she heard dishes clinking inside. "I should have called her to tell her we ate."

"If she did, we'll have leftovers for tomorrow."

Sucking on her lip, she added, "I'm nervous."

"I can be in the room if you want me to," Michael suggested, eyebrows peaked. "Make a few jokes to ease the tension. She hasn't seen my Donald Duck bit yet."

Though the mention of this idea did lift her spirits, she had to shake her head. "We should probably do this one-on-one. Are you okay to hang out with my dad for a minute?"

Michael nodded. "No problem. He'd probably like my bit."

"He definitely would," Holly said with another smile, looking at him with admiration. "Thank you for being so kind to him, by the way. I know it can be hard to talk to him when he's not completely together like today…"

At that, Michael said nothing, but leaned in to kiss her cheek — and did so lovingly, lingering long enough to tickle her skin and make her laugh, in spite of all nerves. He leaned in closer to brush his nose against her cheekbone, just a little Eskimo kiss…

Naturally, that was when her mother finally came to the door. Michael's head pulled back instantly, and his body shifted a whole inch from hers.

Mom's eyebrows could have hit the ceiling as she took a deep breath at the sight, exhaling slowly. "Welcome back," she said civilly.

Holly put on a grin. "Thanks, Mom."

Mom nodded, and opened the door for them to enter. Holly allowed Michael to go first, as he carried the heavier bags, and she filed in after him. "How was your trip? Did you find anything you liked?"

Michael jumped at that opportunity as he set the bags on the coffee table and turned around. "Just these bags," he joked with a straight face. "So we thought, 'hey, good place to put the bodies, right?'"

"What did you get?" her mother asked despite his attempt at a joke. Taking a seat by the end of the coffee table, she added, "Anything interesting?"

Holly, still visibly tense, sat down on the couch. Michael took a seat beside her, tugging the bags closer.

"Well, we started out in Old Navy and Michael looked at phone cases while I tried on some clothes," Holly began, shuffling through each bag to pull out items of interest, not including a Guardians of the Galaxy t-shirt which she didn't expect her mother would appreciate. "Then Marshall's, Kohl's, a few other places looking for new coats for both of us… which, which we actually didn't wind up finding," Holly admitted as she looked over at Michael. "I guess we got distracted."

Mom leaned back in her seat, chuckling. "I can guess whose fault that was," she remarked a bit pointedly.

Holly blinked over at her mother, unsure of how to take this. She turned to Michael, who remained silent.

Then, looking directly at Michael, Mom added, "It's always been near impossible to shop with Holly." She smiled slightly. "One time when she was little — I think in elementary school — we actually went a whole year without buying her a new coat, because every time we'd take her out shopping, she'd get distracted by some new toy or movie. And she had her father wrapped around her little finger, so we'd often end up buying it for her."

Holly shook her head. "He wasn't wrapped around my finger. He enjoyed those movies just as much as I did."

"Oh, he was, and he still is," Mom assured her in amusement. "And you'd be so excited to go home and play with the toy or watch the movie that we'd completely forget about the coat!"

She could feel Michael's grin coming her way as she leaned down to grab at another bag, smiling bashfully. "Well, I guess I haven't changed," she admitted, and pulled out the other bags. "Anyway, then we got lunch, and meandered through a few more places — Bath and Body Works, stuff like that. We saw Kung Fu Panda 2."

"Was it any good?" Mom asked curiously.

Holly nodded, and looked at Michael, who nodded. Then she reached for the largest bag.

When she pulled out the poster, her mother couldn't see what it was, and asked immediately, "You bought a picture?"

"A poster," Michael informed her with a grin, just as Holly turned it for her mother to see. "It's Counting Crows, the band. I bought it for her," he said with a little pride.

Mom then reached out to examine the poster more closely, seeming interested to Holly's surprise. "Counting Crows. Okay."

Holly bit her lip happily. "Well, it was the band I wanted to see with Michael for our first date, but we didn't get to. So it's just something sentimental."

Her mom looked over it more closely for a moment, silently, before handing it back. "That's sweet."

 _That_ had Holly stunned.

And clearly, Michael had sensed that now was a good time to let them talk. "Well, I'm going to go change," he announced a bit obviously, hand accidentally brushing up Holly's arm before pulling sharply away. "I'll take some of the bags."

"Thank you," Holly said as she watched him pick up the bags and leave the room in record time. For a moment, she wished he wouldn't go; but before she could stop him, he was gone.

That left her with her mother, who did not speak for a long moment. Her attention was instead turned toward the unveiled window, from which they could see some of the sunset colors that evening. Meanwhile, Holly pretended to be busy with something inside one of the remaining bags, and prayed that her mother would speak first.

But Mrs. Flax was a stubborn woman.

So Holly sighed and started. "I'm sorry for fighting with you, Mom," she apologized, and drew her mother's attention back to her. Holly averted her eyes awkwardly from her mother's. "I guess I'm just… I'm really nervous about this early period with Michael. I want everything to be perfect, you know, so he doesn't change his mind or… resent me, or anything."

Her mother nodded. "I understand."

"And you know, this stage — this is about where things have gone bad before, for me. So I guess I've been taking out some of my anxiety on you."

Holly felt weird, expressing these concerns out loud after keeping them in her mind for so long. She'd been feeling this way since Michael proposed, so to tell her mother now was like admitting to keeping a big secret. She didn't know why she felt guilty for it.

Mom took a minute to absorb this information, but once she had finished, she didn't seem angry. She reached out to take Holly's hand, even, as she replied softly, "Holiday, I… It's hard, for me to trust anyone with my daughter. That's something that's just going to take time. But from what I've seen, and heard from you, he does sound like he loves you."

"I know he does," she tried to insist, though it came off weak. "I _know_ he does. I just still want him to be happy here."

Mrs. Flax smiled, huffing a little laugh. Holly offered a small, similar smile in return… then sighed.

"But I shouldn't have acted that way toward you this morning, and I'm sorry. This _is_ your house, and I came here for you and Dad — not for me. I should act like it."

Her mother sighed. "Well, I was talking to your father, and he… made me realize I was being a bit unfair. You two are adults, after all, and I was treating you like teenagers. I'm sorry for that."

"It's okay," Holly said quietly.

Shifting in her seat, she continued, "It's a big change, to have your kid come to take care of _you_ instead. To not have to parent your daughter when she's in your house again; to not be able to hand-pick who she winds up with, just to _make sure_ … Because a mother's supposed to protect her kid. I didn't protect you from a lot of things."

"It's okay," Holly repeated herself, squeezing her mom's hand. "I'm okay. Everyone's okay. You've done a great job as a mother."

Mrs. Flax bit her lip. "You sure?"

"Yes!"

"Okay," she relented. "Okay, then I'll take that and… get off your ass, I guess."

Holly chuckled, leaning back in her seat. "Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too," she shot back, and they watched each other for a moment. Mrs. Flax blinked a few times, lips parting as if to say something else - but then she looked to the door.

"Well, Michael ducked the hell out of here. You wanna go get him for Pictionary?"

Holly looked back at the hallway. "I'll see if I can convince him."

* * *

 _ **Sorry for the late update - been moving stuff around a bit and haven't had a lot of free time. Thanks so much for every review; the fact that anyone is reading this is very much a reassurance. Anyway, see ya tomorrow.**_


	9. Beneath the Sheets (of Paper)

**Chapter IX**

 **Beneath the Sheets (of Paper)**

* * *

 _Beneath the sheets_

 _Of paper, lies my truth…_

 _I have to go. I have to go._

\- "Samson" by Regina Spektor.

* * *

He didn't suspect they'd be playing Pictionary again very soon — not because it hadn't been fun, but because it had been _very_ fun for only one team.

Michael wasn't a great artist by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd held his own against Mr. Flax, who could draw his way out of federal prison. Holly, too, had inherited some of that talent, which helped their cause. But none of this mattered in the long run, because the victory wasn't taken by artistic skill - Michael and Holly had beaten the Flaxes with what had been called their "secret mind tunnel," which made them the perfect team.

They might have tried a new game after their first victory, but Mrs. Flax was competitive, and Holly, as it turned out, had that side to her as well. Michael was afraid to have too much fun, but once they'd switched teams — men versus women — and he was opposite Holly, he felt more comfortable letting out the trash talk. And she served it right back, just as good as she could take it.

She just did it in a much more adorable way.

But eventually, they'd stopped playing to put a movie on. Holly's dad was getting a little frustrated when words kept escaping him, so it was better for everyone to quit while they were ahead. One of the Star Wars movies was on, so they watched that for a while, until it ended sometime past midnight. Everyone was getting tired by then, so they turned it off and all went to bed.

Now that he'd gotten ready for bed, though, he wasn't so tired anymore. He could hear Holly out in the bedroom, walking around, and he found himself wanting to stay up and just talk with her. He wasn't ready for today to end… even though he knew he would wake up beside her tomorrow.

He'd finished up in the bathroom, so he opened the door and turned the light out, stepping out into the guest room. There, as he'd expected, he found her on her feet — stripped down to underwear and a t-shirt, stretching up on her toes in the effort of taking a framed picture off the wall by the vanity. Michael saw that she was struggling and came up to help her out.

When he reached up to retrieve the picture, she let him do it, stepping back to watch. "Thank you muchly," she replied, arms crossing. "Vertically challenged, I guess. Damn, you look good."

Michael's eyebrows shot up, looking over his shoulder as he set the picture down on the bed. He grinned mischievously. "Damn, yourself."

"Dayum," Holly said, her arms wrapping around his waist.

"Dayum straight," Michael replied. Glancing around, he turned his head to ask, "Where's the poster?"

Then she nudged his other elbow with the corner, handing it to him. He took it, lifting it higher to hang it — finding it hard to focus on the nail in the wall while her hands tickled at his abdomen and her lips were pressed against his back, only a thin t-shirt away from his skin. Her tiny body made such an impression on his from behind, and it was so distracting…

"There 'tis," he announced as he let go of the frame and immediately turned around to face her. She loosened her grip as he slipped his arms around her back, resting his forehead against hers. "Now…"

Holly chuckled at his lips as he met her in a ticklish kiss, his end-of-day stubble barely grazing her skin, his eyes closing. His nose brushed against hers, and her eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks…

Then, for what must have been the fifth time in that day alone, her phone buzzed loudly.

Michael sighed as he pulled back, not afraid to pout about it. "Your phone's been going off all day," he complained.

She frowned at him, but stepped past to check the message. "It's probably just another email from hiring. I might try a different service — nothing I'm getting is close enough to here. It would all be such a long commute that the cost…"

Her voice trailed off as she sat still on the edge of the bed, looking down at her phone. He observed as she absentmindedly pulled the picture off the bed and slid it down by the bedside table. She did not speak for a few moments.

He tugged his pants off then and tossed them on the dresser. "What is it?" he asked after a minute.

Holly looked up abruptly, her eyes soft in a thoughtful manner. "It's… it's another position. Come here."

She scooted over to give him space and slipped under the covers. He got in and snuggled up closer to her, where they met in the middle of the bed. "Let's see."

She curled up beside him, holding the phone up above the covers so both of them could see. "It's a position pretty similar to my previous one, with a little less pay — H.R. rep at a satellite company."

"How close?"

She scrolled down for a moment, then replied, "Just outside of Denver. Probably a thirty-minute drive without traffic."

Michael raised his eyebrows, arm coming around underneath her. "That's pretty good."

"Yeah," she mumbled, though for some reason, she didn't sound so enthusiastic. She nodded anyway, scrolling further.

Licking his lips, he examined her face for any sign of excitement at all. "Are you gonna apply for it, do you think?"

She hesitated. "… It makes sense for us, right now. I guess I am."

Michael observed as she clicked the link, directing her to the resume submission page, without another word. He was curious about this, though he didn't stop her. This seemed like a good opportunity for her to work near her parents, doing something she was already trained to do; but she sounded disappointed, or at least uninterested. "Do you not want to go back to work?"

Her eyes flicked up from the screen, looking directly into his, so closely that his vision was fuzzy. "I do," she said halfheartedly. Pushing herself up a little bit, she sighed and added, "I really do."

"Then why so serious?" he asked, adding a hint of the Joker in there for dramatic effect. He ran his fingers down the side of her arm quietly. "You're finding things faster than I am."

"I know. I just…" she began, a strange tone to her voice. "I just, I thought that eventually, I'd quit and go back to school, you know? Pursue something different, that interested me a little more."

His eyebrows rose. "I thought you liked H.R."

"I do," she assured him with a small smile. Tugging the sheets over their heads, she lowered her voice to a whisper as the her face grew darker beneath. "I always imagined that I'd end up doing something else, though. Something with kids."

He considered this. "That sounds like fun. Like a kid doctor or something?"

"Oh, not a doctor," she said almost immediately. Her hand got twisted up in his shirt subconsciously, her stare never disconnecting from his. "That takes so much training, and money, and I don't even think I'd enjoy the actual medical aspect of it. But I've always kind of wanted to teach, you know? Little kids — kindergarten or elementary age. To make boring subjects more fun, the way I would have wanted teachers to do growing up."

When he heard this, not only did it make sense, but it intrigued him. He remembered his kindergarten teacher, whom he'd adored as a kid — and he could definitely picture Holly doing that. "You should go for it," he said, without a hint of uncertainty.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, honey, that would be such a hassle right now…"

"No, but I can see it!" he cut her off, getting excited and waving his hands up to stop her. "I mean, little kids love you — everyone loves you — and you're so much fun, they couldn't _not_ want to come to school and learn every day. And you'd be that teacher, _Mrs. Scott_ , you know."

"Michael…"

"And everyone loves Mrs. Scott," he continued anyway, lowering his voice. "Because she's the prettiest woman in the whole world. And she's funny, and she's warm. And every Monday, kids bring in a shiny red apple for her, or they draw her pictures and she hangs them up on her refrigerator during the week, so she can look at them and remember that she's the best teacher ever."

Holly inhaled at his story, breath catching as her face broke into a smile, eyes a bit dreamy. "Michael, that sounds like so much fun… but…"

"Then don't apply," he said simply, and reached around for her phone. "Let's get you back to college and-"

"Michael," she said for the third and final time, setting her hand on his firmly. "It's impossible for us right now."

"Nothing's impossible."

"This is pretty close," she insisted, expression faltering. She lowered her eyes at his chest with a sigh, and squeezed his hand. "We don't have the money to send me back to college, and even if we did have money, we'd be spending it on the wedding, and then the new house…"

"Those things can wait," he reasoned.

"Teachers make next to noting, Michael, and right now we need _money_." And glancing up at the covers, she added in a hushed tone, as though someone would hear, "And plus, my dad is obviously a bit too much for my mom to handle by herself. I can't just abandon her for classes and homework."

Michael was discouraged by these facts, but still. "It sounds perfect for you, honey. I don't want you to _not_ go after something because of the wedding, or the house…"

"It's okay," she assured him, a small smile coming over her face as she rested her forehead on his. "This job doesn't have to be a permanent thing, you know. Maybe in the future, once things have calmed down again and we have the money to spend on it, I'll give it a shot."

Michael furrowed his brow, and shook his head. "Not 'maybe,'" he argued gently. "Promise me."

"Promise you?"

"You gotta," he decided. "That's the only way I'll ever leave you alone about it. You have to promise."

She bit her lip, seeming unsure. But as his hand tucked her hair behind her ear, brushing down her jaw gently, her muscles relaxed, and she sighed.

"I promise."

Michael smiled, victorious. "Good."

"And I might not even get this job," she reminded him, always cautious. She squished in closer to him, setting her phone out on the bedside table without a second thought. "You still might get hired before me."

"Who knows?" he said, lifting his hand. "Maybe we'll wind up working together again."

She exhaled heavily into his chest. "That would be nice," she whispered.

It really, certainly would.

* * *

 _ **Sorry I keep missing days - a bottle of wine and I had a good conversation last night and I spent today babysitting, so I've been occupado. But here's this. Thanks for the reviews; each is appreciated.**_


	10. It's Not a Silly Little Moment

**Chapter X**

 **It's Not a Silly Little Moment**

* * *

 _It's not a silly little moment…_

 _It's not the storm before the calm…_

\- "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" by John Mayer.

* * *

Holly might have forgotten about her interview today if Michael hadn't woken her with a high-pitched, "Today's the day! The sun is shining! The tank is clea… the tank is clean. _**The tank is clean!**_ "

It had been a week since she'd sent in an application for the position as an H.R. representative, and only twenty-four hours since she'd received the call requesting an interview with her. It had been twenty-two hours since Michael had last stopped talking about it.

He was probably more excited than she was, as he woke her up early to help her prepare in advance. At first, she'd been unenthusiastic, but by the time the alarm clock actually went off, she was beyond relieved for his help. She hadn't interviewed for a job in years, and she had been nervous ever since she'd applied for this one. But Michael had interviewed plenty of people in his career, and he was happy to help her prepare.

He was also happy to help her _shower._ That might not have saved as much time as it had spent, but it had unwound her a good deal. Even as she put on her makeup now, lips running over her pre-written answers in the mirror, she felt so _impossibly_ relaxed.

"… _glad to share my history with you…"_ she muttered silently, applying mascara slowly in focus. " _Starting when I was twenty-one…"_

"Five bed, six bath with a _jacuzzi tub_!" Michael interrupted as he stared down at his phone, swiping down the screen rapidly. He had stayed in the bathroom with her, still in his pajamas with legs curled up on the top of the toilet — just sitting in her company while she got ready. "Two of 'em! _Two jacuzzis!_ "

Holly raised her eyebrows, mouth held open as she moved over to the other eye. "Michael, why would we ever need six bathrooms?"

"When we have kids," he pointed out and drew her attention away from her reflection. "Think about it! We could all pee at the _same time_!"

Holly just laughed at him and shook her head. "I don't think we need five bedrooms either. The odds are pretty good that we'll have two boys or two girls close enough to share a room."

Something about this had Michael beaming, and she smiled back at him.

"What?"

He chuckled a little bit, voice rising. "We're having kids!"

At that, her whole heart swelled a little bit. "Hell yeah, we are," she replied softly.

"You bet yo' ass we ah!"

"You bet yo mama!"

"You bet- hey, hey, hey!" he cut himself off, raising his phone up in the air. "Three bed, two bath. Big backyard. Check it out."

Holly dropped her lipstick in her bag and scooted over on the counter to see. Michael turned the screen for her to see, and scrolled through the pictures for her. "Look at that," he said from behind the phone.

The pictures were nice enough, and the backyard _was_ pretty big, which had been one of their must-haves for future kids and pets. In the future, such a house would be exactly what they needed — but they couldn't _afford_ a house.

"It's nice," Holly remarked as he pulled the phone away. "But we're looking at apartments, remember?"

Michael seemed a bit disappointed, but continued scrolling. "All the good houses are gonna be gone by the time we're ready to look."

Meanwhile, Holly examined herself in the mirror, done with the mascara. Her hair was done — _check_ — and her makeup was complete — _check, check_ — and her clothes hung on the door, the only thing left to be put on.

"Mom and Dad are paying for the wedding so that we can save up over the next couple of years — that way we can spring for something _really nice_ to raise our kids in." She reached for her own phone, then, to check the time.

"I know, but there's so many nice ones _now_ …"

"Holy shish kabob," she breathed, voice shaking as she hopped off the counter, nearly slipping on the wet bathroom floor. She immediately collected all her makeup into her bag in a rush.

Michael looked up. "What?"

Dropping her makeup bag into her purse on the floor, she mumbled, "I'm running late, honey. Can you help me change?"

Without missing a beat, he shot up to his feet. "On it."

So Holly wiggled her shoes onto her feet while Michael peeled her tank top over her head — and got it stuck on her head, covering her eyes. "I can't see," she announced in a muffled voice, wiggling her head around.

"Sorry," he breathed as he turned it, trying again. Finally, it came off her head. "Okay. Pants."

Holly grabbed her blouse and tugged it over her head, while Michael helped her step into her blackest pants. Straightening her top over herself, she hopped into her pants; once a hand was free, she fumbled for her engagement ring on the counter. She slipped it back onto her finger, where it belonged.

"Thank you, Michael," Holly breathed as she pulled her jacket on. Before he had stepped back, she grabbed him by the hem of his t-shirt and tugged him to her lips. She held him there, appreciating him for as long as she could until she had to let him go.

"-mmyou're welcome," Michael said when she broke away, eyes opening slowly. He drew a deep breath. "Is there anything else I can… pull…" He cleared his throat. "…off your body?"

Holly chuckled under her breath, sending him a teasing look. "Nice try," she squeaked, and her voice reached a higher pitch than she'd expected. Her nerves were catching up to her.

" _Hol, you better get your butt down here and eat some breakfast before you leave!"_ her mother called from the hallway, knocking on the wall. Holly smiled to herself and pushed the bathroom door open, hurrying out into the bedroom. She heard Michael walking in after her.

"All right," she mumbled to herself as she dropped her phone into her purse and turned, in a full circle, in search of her notebook with all her notes inside. "Where's my notebook? Michael, have you seen it?"

"Right beside you."

"Right." She picked it up, but dropped her pen, and bent down with a jerk. It slipped under the dresser to her ultimate dismay. "Oh, come on…"

Then a pair of warm hands walked their fingers around her waist, stopping her thoughts in an instant as they guided her up again. No sooner had she reached a relatively-straight posture than had his mouth landed on her neck, kissing there. He knew it tickled, and he did it _on purpose_.

"Michael!" she protested with a wide smile, neck curling up around him. "I'm _late_ , Michael. Let me- _Michael_!" she shrieked as he licked her neck playfully.

"I love you," he said into her skin, tickling her even more with his breath.

"I love you, too," she said in surrender. "Sneaky Hobbitses."

"Let's get some breakfast before you go."

She sighed but did not complain at Michael for joining her mother's nagging. "I'll never get away without it, will I?"

"Hm… Nope." He stepped around to open the bedroom door for her, and she stepped through with a nod of gratitude.

"Are you going to be okay here with my parents?" she asked, starting down the stairs.

Michael chuckled. "I think I'll survive. I think."

"I'll cross my fingers for you."

"I'll cross my fingers for you," he shot back. "I'll cross 'em harder, not that you're gonna need it."

They stepped into the kitchen together, finding an interesting combination of order and chaos as Mr. Flax sat at the dining table, with food perfectly not-touching on his plate and newspaper perfectly folded, while Mrs. Flax stood at a stove loaded with bacon and waffles, hair perfectly streaked with waffle batter. When she saw Holly, she sprang to life.

"Hollywood, don't even think about leaving here without food in your stomach. I'll chase you down and rear-end you."

"Thanks, Mom," Holly replied as she approached the counter. Michael stepped past her and opened the refrigerator.

"Do you want any juice?" Michael asked, in a similar tone of voice to her mother's.

Holly smiled, collecting a waffle off the top of a stack. "That's okay."

"Two or three?" Mom called.

"Just one, Mom. I won't have a lot of time."

"Just _one_ waffle?"

"How about coffee?" Michael offered.

Holly didn't respond, simply shaking her head in disbelief of the two people — the two who got along the least in the house, but behaved so similarly sometimes that it was _hilarious_. "I love you guys. I've got to go."

Michael shut the fridge immediately. "Smile! Everyone loves you!"

"Take another waffle!" Mrs. Flax insisted.

Holly ignored them both, slinging her purse back over her shoulder and heading toward the door. As she passed by her father, she set her hand on his shoulder as a "goodbye."

Then he called after her, "I'm not worried at all." And out of everything that had been said to her today, that was probably the most reassuring.

With all their support behind her, Holly shut the front door behind her and rushed, so close to being late but feeling much more confident now.

* * *

 ** _Sorry for the late update - depression has been bad lately, but I think we've found a therapist for me, so that much is good. Two chapters coming today to make up for the absence. Thanks for reading and reviewing!_**


	11. I Know a Lot About Closing Doors

**Chapter XI**

 **I Know a Lot About Closing Doors**

* * *

 _Because I know a lot about closing doors_

 _But not enough about what opens up yours…_

\- "Oh My Stars" by Andrew Belle.

* * *

Terror was defined by this right here. This moment, sitting here with his hands folded in his lap, staring straight ahead without wavering, was the physical incarnation of terror. _He_ was the human form of terror.

He didn't know how it had happened, without warning, without a chance to escape. He'd just been sitting at home on the computer, reading through Facebook between bouts of job-hunting and cat videos, minding his own business. He'd been safe. He'd been so _innocent_.

Or he'd been a fool to think so.

In she'd swooped, like a hawk with curly hair and a lipstick smile and two deep chasms for eyes, which held an eternity of scrutinizing looks, lying in wait for only him and no one else. She was never so terrifyingly-critical, so passive-aggressively judgmental, so harshly dissatisfied with her husband, or her daughter — not that he had seen. It was only him, and it was only when no one was looking.

She was like Meryl Streep in _The Devil Wears Prada_ but so much worse and _not_ a brilliant actress.

She was… Satan. And somehow, Holly had once come out of her.

" _You don't have any plans for lunch."_

Michael had been caught, without anything to say to such a statement. It wasn't even in the form of a question. Of course, he didn't have any plans. He was unemployed, his fiance was at a seemingly-endless interview, and his friends were only reachable by the internet at this point. He was trapped. She would know if he was lying.

One awkward car drive had been all it took to bring him here, to this booth, at this table, staring at his menu as though he didn't already know what he was getting — the same thing every time, as a rule. He didn't know what to do with himself, waiting for Mrs. Flax to come back from the bathroom and captured by his own anxious thoughts, racing in neverending circles.

 _What do I say when she gets back? Am I in trouble? Did I do something to make her hate me forever? Does she already hate me forever? Is she going to kill me and hide my body in the women's room? All possibilities. All likely._

"Hi, there," a waiter greeted, drawing his gaze up from the table. "Welcome to Chili's — I'm Will and I'll be serving you today. Can I start you off with any drinks?"

"Water," Michael said immediately. "Just a lot of water. Bring a pitcher."

Will the Waiter seemed surprised by this. "For the table?"

Michael sighed anxiously. "For me. I'm here with my future mother-in-law."

Will the Waiter chuckled. "All right. What'll she be having?"

"Probably my head. I don't know." Glancing back at the bathroom doors, though, he found that Mrs. Flax was already on her way. "Damn. Women are supposed to take hours in the bathroom."

Will the Waiter didn't appear to know what to say to this, though he did laugh again at Michael's expense. He waited there for Mrs. Flax to return, to get her order.

Meanwhile, Michael tried to "casually" look around for an emergency exit in this place, just in case he needed to make a break for it mid-meal. Also, he had entered 9-1-1 on his speed dial, right under Holly's number and Pizza Hut but above the animal shelter. He had all his bases covered.

If it became a truly dire situation, he and Holly could always get married in Vegas and go on a cruise for their honeymoon.

"Sorry," Mrs. Flax said as she scooted back into her seat. Michael's head whipped up at her, and found that she wore no disdainful expression… yet. "Did we want any appetizers?"

He usually did, but right now, he had no appetite. "If you want."

Mrs. Flax looked over the front page of the menu, considering this for a moment. But she shook her head. "I'll save room. They always give you too much food here."

"It's good food," he offered nervously.

She smirked. "Holly told me you liked this place, so I figured I'd try it out since they remodeled. Did you see the big sign out front?"

"Nope." He shook his head, looking down at the table. "No, I did not. I wasn't paying attention, I guess. Typical me. I don't always pay attention." Afraid of leaving any silence, he added in a weak voice, "Lame."

Mrs. Flax did not reply to this, and instead opened her menu. He didn't know if that was a relief or a horror.

More than anything, in this moment, Michael wanted to text Holly and tell her to wrap up her interview to come save him. He knew he couldn't do that, of course — because this was a good job opportunity and she didn't need to be distracted and he was a grown-ass man — but he really, _really_ wanted to do it anyway. He was pretty sure he was brought here to be tortured. Holly's mom was _great_ at making conversation out of nothing and she wasn't doing it, on purpose, just to make him squirm. And she was probably enjoying it.

"Howard has his golf game today."

Michael froze, listening without looking. "Does he?"

Mrs. Flax nodded in his peripheral vision. "Yeah. He'll be out for a while, so I figured we'd be alone at home anyway. Might as well get a decent meal."

"Your meals are decent," Michael said too quickly, and internally, he wanted to stop himself. "I mean, they're better than- they're… good. You're a great cook. Personally, I would have been fine to eat at home."

 _Yikes, Michael. Yee-ikes._ _ **Yikes.**_

Mrs. Flax examined him in a way that made him feel like a test subject of some freak experiment. "I don't like to cook _all day_ , Michael. Sometimes I need a break."

His eyes widened in disbelief of himself.

 _I am the worst ever. Why not just jump up on the table and take off my pants? It can't be worse than this._

The ceiling fan was in the way though.

He didn't know why he'd actually considered it for a second.

The silence was worse than the talking, it seemed, as they both pretended to be invested in the TVs overhead or the dessert menu or the nutrition facts on the back of the sweetener packets. Michael anxiously rubbed his shoes together, creating this awful squeaking noise that he couldn't manage to stop. Mrs. Flax sighed at one point. That was the point at which his eyes returned to the emergency exit, and he started to sweat.

Then it got worse.

"Holly told me you've been looking at apartments," she said, though he wished she wouldn't.

Michael swallowed, and nodded. "Yeah, uh, we are. We are. We found a few nice ones."

"Eager to get out of her parents' place, huh?" she asked in a leading way — a question to which he had no response.

It was around this point when Michael found himself coveting the sweet, cold release of the grave.

After a moment of silence, Mrs. Flax laughed a bit weakly, as though she'd made a joke that hadn't taken. "I'm… I'm kidding, you know."

His eyebrows shot up, and he swallowed dryly, trying too early to laugh. "You got me," he said, waving his finger at her. "Funny."

Mrs. Flax's laugh did last for only a second as she observed him — hand fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers, her expression melting into seriousness. She lowered her voice. "But you two are getting married before you move, right?"

He swallowed again. "Well, I'm not sure, really. I think-"

"Or would you prefer to live in sin?" she cut him off in such a way that wasn't clearly serious or humorous — a tone which could give him a seizure, which could kill him at this rate. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

He did go with a guess, laughing, and asked eventually, "Kidding, right?"

Mrs. Flax nodded with a bit of a weird smile. "I'm kidding."

"Of course, you are," Michael said as he forced a few more laughs, and tried to subtly dab at his hairline for sweat. "That's funny. You're good at that. _Wah-wah-wahhh_ , you know." His mouth just wouldn't stop talking. "Bazinga."

He wanted To Die.

At this moment, the waiter brought their drinks by the table, setting down the pitcher of ice water along with two cups. He did not ask for their orders yet, unfortunately, leaving them to silence again. Michael took to the pouring with shaking hands.

 _I have to say something,_ he thought as the awkward pause grew longer. _What do I say? Think of_ _ **something**_ _._

Clearly, Mrs. Flax was as much at a loss for words as he was, and she cleared her throat. "Okay. I'm just gonna look at the menu here…"

"I'm sorry I had sex with your daughter."

Mrs. Flax actually choked on her drink.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut, hard.

 _ **Damn it!**_ _Not_ _ **that. Anything but that.**_ Why did his mind always go to the one thing he knew he _shouldn't_ say and then say it?

"I'm sorry."

"Michael-"

"I'm so sorry. May I excuse myself?"

"Sit down and shut your mouth for ten seconds," Mrs. Flax demanded with wide eyes, still coughing out water furiously. Michael froze, shoulders stiff, and grabbed the edge of the booth for support. He was going to pass out.

And obviously, she had noticed his paleness. As soon as she got her breath back, she sighed, and leaned on the table.

"Michael, what in the hell is the matter with you?" she scolded with a wild expression of completely bewilderment. "I invited you to lunch today to try to talk to you, the same, perfectly human way my husband talks to you, and all I get out of you is this nonsense! What is the problem?"

Michael was practically choking on air here, so thirsty but stomach too nervous to drink.

She sighed. "Drink some water, please. You look like you're dying of thirst."

Immediately upon her request, he grabbed his glass and tilted it back, drinking the whole cup in less than seven seconds. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to collect his thoughts — to calm down even though his anxiety told him _not_ to — and make this better, somehow. He had to make it better.

He drew a deep breath after swallowing, panting for a moment, and rested his forehead in his hands. "I'm sweating. Oh, god."

"Michael…"

"This- this is why I don't talk to you," he said plainly and simply, shaking his head. "I'm awful at talking, and I've been trying… _so hard_ to make you like me, but you don't, do you? You just don't like me. You don't think I'm good enough for Holly and you've said it over and over again the past week-and-a-half."

"I-"

"And I just- I really need people, in general, to like me," he continued, holding his hands out in explanation as he stared at the table. "But when it's my future parents-in-law, I have to try extra hard, and when I try hard, I _fail,_ hard. And Mrs. Flax, I want to marry your daughter," he said with a heavy pant. He looked her in the eyes, inhaling. "I wanna raise kids with her, and I wanna bring them over to Grandma and Grandpa's house — but _you guys_ — not my mom and Jeff. And I want it to be perfect, you know? But it's not. It sucks."

"Michael, would you-"

"And life's just a lot right now on top of it all," he said, getting a little teary from nerves and frustration and emotion. "It's only been a week and I already miss Scranton and my old friends… _so damn much_. And I don't talk about it with Holly because she already feels bad about bringing me here, and she shouldn't, because I _wanted to_. But I wanted it to be different than this. I wanted to have people to be close to, the way I did in Scranton. I wanted friends and a new family, but I just keep screwing up."

He stopped there, sniffing loudly and trying to get it back together. His eyes were probably red, but he blinked them rapidly, to get the tears out. The last thing he needed to do in front of Mrs. Flax was to cry.

The table was quiet for a minute or two, as well as the adjacent booths which had likely overheard this outburst quite clearly. He didn't look up for fear of seeing the glare — the disapproval streamlining from both of her blue eyes, making him feel like it was all a waste. He didn't want to feel it.

"Michael."

"Sorry…"

"Michael, you aren't-" she began, finally responding in some way, though her words failed her. "You aren't screwing up."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, looking up. "I just had a meltdown in front of my future mother-in-law. I think that qualifies."

"I like you, Michael," she said, and that seemed to be what it took to finally shut him up — something he hadn't learned to do, himself, yet.

Michael blinked at her, confused, but did not reply. He just watched her expression teeter between kindness and seriousness. It landed somewhere between.

Sighing, she reached across the table, and, to his utter shock, set her hand on his. She looked into his eyes, and continued, "I do like you. I've liked you since I met you — and maybe before that, with the way my daughter would talk about you. And it scared me."

He blinked, swallowing.

Mrs. Flax squeezed his hand. "I guess that's what's made me so… harsh, maybe. Because I try to be objective, and not to immediately trust the guys Holly brings home. I wanted you to feel like- like if you ever hurt her, I would kill you and feed you to wild dogs."

Michael laughed in surprise, eyebrows raising in spite of himself. "Oh, yeah. I got that impression."

She grinned a little bit. "Plus, my sense of humor's always been a bit off-color."

"I got that, too," he said with a small smile. He nodded at her, looking down at her hand on his.

"I know it must have been hard for you to leave your life in Pennsylvania and come here," Mrs. Flax continued hesitantly. "Howie and I appreciate your kindness, and I know Holly is so touched by it. And being unemployed is a big shift — one which I completely understand. I didn't really want to retire yet, but I did it for Howie, and I'm… I realized it was worth more, to be with him. It does get easier."

Michael pressed his lips together, nodding in understanding. "Yeah. I just hope I can find something here that I enjoy as much, but I don't want to take too long looking."

Mrs. Flax peaked an eyebrow. "Well, I have some connections in the area, if you'd like some help looking. I might be able to find you something before it actually opens — get your foot in the door."

This gesture was amazing to Michael, who had never expected any measure of kindness from Mrs. Flax until this moment. "You'd do that?"

"Hell, yeah. Just give me your resume and I'll spread the word."

His phone buzzed, then, and he reached into his pocket for it subconsciously. "That would be… amazing. Thank you," he said genuinely.

"Not a problem." She watched him check his phone, and asked softly, "Is that her? Did it go well?"

It was, indeed, a text from Holly:

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Well, I could be wrong, but I think that was my best interview ever._

Michael smiled, and looked up. "She thinks so," he remarked. Then his phone buzzed again.

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _How are you guys doing? Are there any survivors?_

"So sorry for the wait, you guys. I'm guessing you're ready to order, right?"

He typed back with a grin.

 _ **You:**_

 _So far we're surviving._

* * *

 _ **Michael's inability to have a normal human conversation is a mood.**_


	12. Everything I Do is Up in the Air

**Chapter XII**

 **Everything I Do is Up in the Air**

* * *

 _Everything I do is up in the air,_

 _But I'm still the same with you…_

\- "Ghosts" by Casey Abrams.

* * *

" _My powers are beyond your mortal imagination. For instance — my eyes can see_ _ **straight**_ _through your armor."_

A slapping noise drew both Holly's and Michael's attention up to the screen at once, and they made eye contact from their different seats, already knowing what would come next.

Thus commenced the Eddie Murphy imitation competition.

"Ooh! All right, that's it!" Holly quoted the line along with both Mushu and Michael, all in perfect synchronization. " _Dishonor!_ Dishonor on your whole family!"

Cri-kee squeaked onscreen. Michael jumped on the next line faster than she did. "Make a note of this! Dishonor on _you_ , dishonor on your cow-"

"How about this one?" her mother interrupted where she sat beside Michael, and directed the laptop toward him. Holly's expression faltered a bit as the game came to an end, and turned her attention back to the movie.

Ever since Holly had went on her first of many interviews, she'd found that Michael and her mother had obviously, at some point, resolved their differences. Though they still weren't apparently "friends," they had been talking much more this past week, mainly about job opportunities. Mom had taken it upon herself to use her network in the area to help him find work — which was great news, of course…

It annoyed her, though and she didn't know why. Perhaps she wasn't used to sharing Michael's attention, or her mom's — or maybe she didn't know how to handle her mother _actually getting along_ with someone Holly loved — or maybe it was just aggravating to constantly hear them discussing job opportunities while she hadn't heard anything from any of her interviews in ominously long.

She wanted to be grateful that Michael didn't seem to feel out of place anymore, but she just wasn't really.

It could have something to do with her parents' driving her crazy. After nearly two weeks of living there, Holly had lost her "guest status" and was now getting very _unsentimental_ about her childhood. Between her father's shouting between rooms and long-winded, boring conversations about stocks, sports, and the same mystery novels he'd been reading a couple decades ago, and her mother's constant criticism and mean-spirited humor, Holly was not feeling like the best version of herself. She felt like going to a hotel.

Unfortunately, until they both got jobs and first month's rent, nobody in their right mind was going to rent them an apartment.

"Did you ever get a call back from Kroger?" Mrs. Flax asked after a long period of clicking and typing.

Michael sat up quickly. "Oh, yeah! I've got an interview on Friday. I almost forgot to tell you."

 _You,_ meaning her mother and not Holly, was the key word in that sentence. But Holly focused on her cereal and _Mulan_ , and stretched her legs over the arm of the chair. She was just a little antsy to leave, but that was no reason to be angry at anyone in particular. Although if she _were_ to be angry, possibly, at anyone in particular, it would be her mother.

" _Annie!"_ came a loud shout from upstairs.

If she were to be angry at a second person, possibly, it might be her father.

"What?" Mom shouted up. Then she looked down at the computer, and muttered something to Michael which Holly couldn't hear.

He _laughed_.

And that was totally fine.

" _Annie!"_

" _What?_ " she said again, more loudly.

Holly nearly bit down on her spoon, and dropped it in her bowl quickly. She sat up and turned to look at her mother, withholding a sigh. "Do you want me to go see what he wants, Mom?"

" _Annie, which tie should I wear?"_ her father yelled through the floor, making her wince.

"You don't need a tie!" Mom called back. "It's just the doctor!"

" _But if I did, which one would I wear?"_

"You don't need one!"

" _It's a hypothetical question!"_

Her mother ignored him at this point, and reached for her phone on the coffee table. "That guy from that water-bottling company asked me for your number for future hiring. Give me your phone and I'll enter it in."

" _Annie!"_

At that, Holly set her bowl down loudly on the coffee table — perceivably a bit passive-aggressively, but she wasn't angry, so it couldn't have been that — and started up to her feet. "I'm going to go check on him."

"Holly, don't enable him to put on one of those ties," Mom chided as Michael handed her his phone. "Just ignore him."

Holly furrowed her brow. "Mom, he's just gonna keep yelling."

" _Annie,_ _ **which tie**_ _?"_

"Dad, you don't need a tie!" Holly shouted a bit abruptly, and clearly, so that he would be able to hear her.

Her mother's eyebrows were raised at her, and she chuckled a bit. "Someone's cranky," she muttered to Michael, without looking away from the computer.

Michael's expression shifted awkwardly. Holly bit her tongue, _hard_.

"I'm going to go help Dad," Holly mumbled as she turned to exit the room. She nearly escaped.

But then, Mom stood up from the couch, shoving her laptop onto Michael in the process. "I'll do it," she said, stopping Holly before she could do it anyway. "Finish your breakfast."

Holly pressed her lips into what might resemble a smile or something civil. To keep from getting angry — because she _wasn't angry_ — she did not argue, and let her mother pass her to the stairs. She did not look back at her as she returned to the living room.

Michael was alone on the couch, looking both awkward and _intensely_ interested in whatever he was reading on the computer. She wondered if the two had anything to do with each other.

" _ **Chicken**_ _boy?"_ Mushu cried onscreen. " _Say that to my face, youlimp noodle!"_

Both Michael and Holly chuckled at that, breaking the silence before it had started.

A bit relieved that her mother was gone, Holly's muscles relaxed as she walked around her chair, and took a seat beside him on the couch. She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Hey," Michael said, his arm wiggling around her waist and tugging her into his side. She relented easily, snuggling up against him, head resting on his shoulder.

"Hey," she replied in a quieter voice. She watched what he was doing on the computer — scrolling through a long page of something she couldn't really read sideways, and stopping to click on something. Then he pulled up his resume word document, and continued scrolling. His free hand inching up her side, up above her ribs.

As his hand reached the side of her chest, though, he stopped, and leaned to whisper in her ear, "You're not mad at me, right?"

"No, I'm not," she assured him with a deep sigh. "I'm just in a bit of a bad mood."

His eyebrows shot up, and he let his hand wander as he replied lowly, "I can fix that."

"Oh, yeah, and then Mom'll come back down and wreck it again," Holly said, though she was smiling in spite of herself. She stretched up to kiss his neck quickly, before adding another to his jaw.

" _Can't a man wear a tie if he wants to wear a tie?"_

Holly winced, lips retreating from his skin for fear that she'd clench her teeth and accidentally bite him or something. Although he might have enjoyed it.

"You can keep doing that," Michael suggested, looking sideways at her with a suggestively-arched eyebrow.

Holly stuck her tongue out at him. "Maybe once they're off at the doctor's office."

Michael pouted, his fingers sneaking under her shirt in that ticklish way that he knew practically disabled her. Her phone buzzed on the table, but she didn't care to check it. She was staring right into his eyes, and she could read his thoughts through them.

Restraining a smile, she raised her eyebrows and shook her head slowly. "No," she enunciated, though admittedly intrigued by his intense _sexiness_ right now. How had he transitioned from the third-most annoying person on the planet to eye candy in such a brief amount of time? "You are the devil."

"I'm devilishly handsome, if that's what you're implying."

"It was something along those lines, yeah…"

Just as she reached his lips, her phone buzzed for probably the fourth time, catching both of their eyes. Michael retreated. "You gonna get that?"

Holly leaned toward the table to check her phone; but his arm hooked around her and pulled her in to his chest again. "Aha!" he proclaimed, and kissed the side of her head while she laughed. "You are my hostage! Do you have any last words?"

Apparently, he'd forgotten that the laptop was on his legs, and he knocked it onto the floor.

Both of them stopped their joking immediately and swallowed.

"Son of a-" Michael said suddenly, horror spelled out on his face as he lunged for the thing. He let Holly go free, and she scooted back so that he could stand up to check on the laptop. Michael knelt down to pick up the laptop. "Please don't be broken, _please…_ "

Holly picked up her phone as she watched him, unable to see the fate of the laptop which had so harshly slammed against the edge of the coffee table before landing on the wood floor. She turned it on, and saw that she'd received a voicemail.

"There's a scratch on the top! Was that there before? I think it was. It was."

She opened the voicemail and listened.

" _Hello, Ms. Flax. This is Brandon Wright from Dish, regarding our interview last-"_

"He called," Holly whispered to Michael, who nearly hit his head looking up at her.

"Who?"

Holly held up a finger for a moment, eyes drifting upward to listen.

" _I'm happy to inform you that we'd like to hire you for the Human Resources position, effective next Monday, the ninth-"_

"Oh, my god," she breathed, eyes meeting Michael's as the message finished, jaw dropped in surprise. Brandon Wright had been her first interview out of four, and that had been a week ago — she'd given up on it already. She turned off her phone, dropping it on the couch beside her.

Michael, of course, had no idea what had happened. "Is everything okay?" he asked as he set the laptop on the coffee table.

She nodded, in shock. "I'm… I got the job at Dish."

He blinked at her, as though he still didn't understand at first — slowly coming up to his feet and stepping toward the couch. "You- you got it? They hired you?"

"Yeah," she breathed, standing up slowly. She smiled, shrugging her shoulders. "I guess they didn't forget about me after all."

Michael laughed happily, and threw his arms out to hug her. "Congratulations!"

Holly laughed, too, squeezing him tightly. "Thank you!" she said, beaming as she felt his lips land in her hair, victory kisses everywhere. She felt her whole body light up with excitement as he swung her a bit from side to side, tightening the hug.

Then Michael pulled back a little bit to throw his head back, shouting, "Mr. Flax!"

There was silence for a moment, until he replied through the floor, " _Yeah?"_

"Holly got the job!" Michael announced, pride his only expression. Holly couldn't feel more excited now.

" _That's great!"_ her dad called, and sounded as though he'd dropped something on the floor. " _Annie!"_

" _What?"_

" _Holly got the job!"_

"… _**What?**_ "

Holly squeezed her eyes shut, resting her head on Michael's chest, and mentally blocked the two of them out.

* * *

 _ **Sometimes I wonder if you see this, and what it makes you think about me.**_


	13. I Watched You Sleeping Quietly

**Chapter XIII**

 **I Watched You Sleeping Quietly**

* * *

 _I watched you sleeping_

 _Quietly in my bed;_

 _And you don't know this now, but_

 _There's something that needs to be said…_

\- "Hazy" by Rosi Golan.

* * *

Many hotels were in play. Michael rested comfortably at three thousand dollars, while Mrs. Flax struggled to stay above two thousand with every blow dealt by Chance Cards and the roll of the dice. Michael owned most of the board, but only had two hotels, while Mrs. Flax owned four and refused to sell or add any more. It was the battle of the little metal dog and the thimble. The rest had fallen away.

In other words, Holly had fallen asleep during an especially long turn — never being one for Monopoly, he'd learned — and although Mr. Flax held on until the end, he'd knocked out quickly after he'd gone bankrupt. Holly rested across the couch, her head in his lap, and he laid one hand on her back as he watched, waiting for his opponent to make a move. The fireplace crackled as it died before their very eyes, sounding like a ticking clock as they both stared at the board, the turns growing slower and slower…

The longer the game had gone on, the more intense it had grown, and the riskier their moves had become. Michael had, at one point, completely spent his money on adding houses across the board, while Mrs. Flax dumped all her money on houses, and eventually, hotels for Boardwalk and Park Place. All would fall in his favor as long as he continued to pass Go and avoid her two-thousand dollar deathtraps cloaked in dark blue.

"Any day now," Michael taunted in a low voice, watching her eyes shift across the board. "It's not like I have anywhere to go in the morning."

Mrs. Flax grinned, not a care in the world, and dropped two-hundred dollars on a house for her smaller property. "Okay," she announced, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms. "Your turn, smartass. Got another hotel to shove on Connecticut? I'll be shocked."

Michael shook his head, eyebrows raised as he leaned over Holly. "You'll land on it someday, and it's gonna ruin you." And with that, he did drop another fifty dollars on on Connecticut Avenue — not because it was smart, but because it felt good. "And it looks like you're on your way. I can't wait to see you go up in flames."

She chuckled. "We'll see, then, won't we?"

"We shall indeed, see, then." He reached for the dice, and Mrs. Flax slid the board a bit off the edge of the table so that he could reach without waking Holly. He tossed the dice, and winced when he landed just one away from her three-house property, onto his own railroad. Sighing in relief, he added, "Escaped ye again."

Sweeping the dice off the edge of the table, she added under her breath, "I hope you handle your real money better than you handle this stuff."

Michael furrowed his brow. "What? What didn't I do?"

Mrs. Flax smirked, and nodded toward the brown property. "You could have put on a hotel, since I'm heading there right now."

He hadn't actually considered this, but he didn't let it show. "I chose not to," he remarked with a nod, sitting back. "And I do manage my money very well."

"Without an income," she teased, deadpan. "Bum."

Michael chuckled. "Well, maybe you just stink as my job-seeker."

She shook her head. "Nah. I'm good at what I do."

Then she rolled seven, which took her around the board to Community Chest. With that, she laughed in victory, collecting her two-hundred dollars without another word. Then she took her card, which offered her an additional fifty dollars.

"What did you used to do?" Michael then asked, both out of interest and to try to distract her as he took his turn. "Before you retired, what did you do?"

Mrs. Flax chuckled. "You won't distract me and steal money like Howie tries to do."

"I'm not," he protested with a grin, tossing the dice onto the table. Holly stirred in her sleep, her hands coming up to her chest tightly — so he took care not to wake her. "You obviously know tons of people in the state, so I'm guessing you were pretty involved with business."

Both their gazes straightened in focus as he moved his piece onto North Carolina Avenue — his own property — to Mrs. Flax's audible dismay. She swiped the dice from him before he could spend any money, shaking them in her hands.

"I ran a restaurant," she said then, without looking at him. Blowing on the dice for luck, she threw them out onto the table. "For nearly fifteen years, I owned a bar and grill. I was actually starting up a second location upstate, right about the time Howie started getting into trouble."

He raised his eyebrows. "Wow. What'd you do with it then?"

"Sold 'em," she said with a shrug. "That plus retirement made comfortable savings. That's why we're being so generous with Holly's wedding."

Michael watched as the thimble moved one, two, three, four, five, six, _seven_ spaces — as the dice directed — stumbling directly onto, as fate would have it, _Connecticut Avenue_.

That pissed her off really well, sending her slouching back into her seat with her hand over her mouth. She shook her head in disbelief, muttering, "Damn."

Michael laughed out loud. "Well, well, well, would you look at that? Someone's staying at my three silly little hotels tonight, and it looks like — yep, it looks like it's you."

"Shut up."

"That'll be eighteen-hundred, ma'am," he announced, holding out his hand expectantly. "Cash is fine. Thank you for staying at the hot spot of Connecticut — the Scott spot, if you will."

She sent him a glare as she shelled out eighteen-hundred fake dollars, leaving her with only four-hundred dollars left in her bank. If she landed on one of his properties before he landed on one of hers, she was ruined. Michael tasted victory.

Then she did something unexpected — a desperate move that only a crazy person would try to make — a Hail Mary with the last of her money in hand. She dropped four one-hundred dollar bills onto the table, allowing them to float down to the board slowly.

Michael looked at her with great curiosity, his voice lowering to a mutter. "What are you gonna do with that?"

Mrs. Flax said nothing, and reached into the game box, pulling out a tiny, red, plastic hotel. Then she set it on the board and slid it down, down, down — and stopped on Boardwalk, mimicking his third hotel move. His eyes widened.

"Your turn," she said, grinning smugly in spite of her empty bank. Leaning on her hand, she stared at the board patiently. "Don't roll a seven."

He sent her a confident smirk, though he felt the nerves cause his fingers to hesitate as he stretched over the blonde head on his lap to retrieve the dice. He didn't roll at first, staring down at the dice, shaking them in his hands for a good minute.

Then he rolled them.

"Ha!"

"No," Michael muttered, shaking his head. "That's-"

"That's six thousand dollars, son," Mrs. Flax said with a laugh, punching the air. "And it looks like — yep, it looks like you have three thousand. Even if you mortgaged all that property, and sold your hotels-"

"Damn it!"

"-the game would be over," she finished a bit loudly. That caused some disturbance to Holly, who now turned her face completely down between his knees and exhaled a warm huff against his legs. Michael looked at her, swallowing, and back at Mrs. Flax. She lowered her voice. "Surrender?"

Michael wanted to resist, but her logic was sound and he wasn't even sure his houses would sell for enough to break even. He could make it a struggle, if he really wanted — and he really did — but two-thirds of the Flax family were counting sheep already. And he was tired, too.

"I surrender," Michael mumbled. "But only because we buried you so bad at Pictionary."

"Oh, don't go there," Mrs. Flax warned as she swept the pieces off the board, into the box. She looked over at him, and her eyes wandered down toward his lap; and there, her expression softened. "Go take her to bed. I'll clean up."

He nodded in agreement. "All right," he said, shifting under Holly's weight a bit. After examining her position, he tried to shimmy his arm underneath her shoulders to lift her up a bit — but look at that — now he was just feeling her up. So that wouldn't work. Instead, he tried to shake her awake. "Holly…"

When he heard Mrs. Flax's chuckling, he looked up questioningly, and found that she was giving him her signature look. "Can you not lift her?"

Michael furrowed his brow, looking back down for a moment. "Well, yeah, but-"

"Then don't wake her," Mrs. Flax scolded lightly as she collected the property cards. "She's got her first day tomorrow. Give her a break."

"Well, I was getting there, _Annie_ ," he shot back with a nod.

Then her eyebrows shot up. "'Annie?' Take it back down a notch."

He huffed a breath at her while slipping his arms under Holly, turning her over slightly so as to carry her better. "'Mrs. Flax' is too long. I'm living in your _house_ in case you haven't noticed." Leveraging her body in his grasp, he slowly stood up, and found her much lighter than he'd been anticipating. "You've gotta let me relax sometime."

Mrs. Flax laughed at that, and set her hand on his shoulder before he left. "I'm not known as a relaxing presence, Michael. Good luck getting to 'Annie.'"

Michael raised an eyebrow, passing by her and around the coffee table. "Well, goodnight, _Mrs. Flax._ "

"Goodnight, _Michael_."

He exited the living room then, carrying Holly into the unlit hallway and down to the staircase, praying not to trip on a step or something and wake her with a collision. She was dead asleep — seriously limp in his arms and taxing his balance a bit as he tried to keep all her limbs in one place. At least she was already in her pajamas, as he brought her up the stairs and down the dark hall, to their bedroom.

Fortunately, the lamp was already on as he stepped into their room, walking her over to the bed. There, he set her down gently on her side of the mattress — wincing a bit when she twitched, but letting his breath go when she fell back into normal rhythms. Sitting there on the bed, he watched her for a moment, making sure he hadn't disturbed her…

She looked really peaceful, which had been difficult for her to achieve lately. She'd been quite focused on her new job and finding all her work clothes from the move, all her references and desk objects to move into her new office place. Tonight had been a miracle, actually, that she'd slowed down long enough to play a board game that Sunday evening — even if she did eventually-

" _-it_ _ **down**_ _, Howard,"_ came from downstairs, a bit of a surprise to him as it was fairly loud for the time of night. He'd come to expect their arguing in the mornings, but not really at nights.

" _Get the_ _ **hell**_ _off me!"_

That didn't sound right. Michael straightened up to listen more closely, as Mrs. Flax rambled unintelligibly through the wood floor, until she was cut off.

" _-your mouth and tell me where-"_

" _You're confused."_

" _Like hell I am!"_

" _Howard, you're going to wake someone."_

Something loud was dropped or thrown or slammed downstairs, prompting Michael to hop out of bed, fearful that something was wrong with Holly's parents. He stepped out of the room quickly, shutting the door so as to block out some of the sound while Holly slept, and hastened down the hall.

As he grew closer, down on the bottom floor and coming around the corner, he could hear some sort of struggle emanating from the front room, as furniture squeaked against the wood floor loudly, and someone grunted. He stopped in the doorway of the living room, peeking his head inside.

Mr. Flax was restrained by the wrists, terror in his eyes, strain in his arms. Mrs. Flax appeared to be struggling to keep him still, though she didn't seem worried; and she muttered, "Howard, it's all right. Just calm down."

"Is everything okay?" Michael asked, stepping into the room cautiously. Mr. Flax whipped around to see him, and his eyes widened.

"Who're you?" he said first, as he looked back and forth between his wife and Michael. "Who is that?"

"Michael," Mrs. Flax chided Michael, shaking her head. "Go to bed. Everything's fine."

"What's he doing in our house?" Mr. Flax asked loudly, jerking out of Mrs. Flax's hold and nearly stumbling into the coffee table if she hadn't caught him by the arm. "Let me go!"

Michael ignored her reassurance and came around the couch toward them, reaching out for the man. "Mr. Flax," he said as he gently but firmly took hold of his other shoulder. "It's okay, all right? I'm your daughter's fiance. I'm gonna help you get to bed."

"My what?" Mr. Flax breathed, still violently confused.

Mrs. Flax looked over her husband's shoulder at Michael, forehead wrinkled. "Can you help me get him up the stairs?"

"No!" Mr. Flax said abruptly, and strained against their hold. "I need to go home. I'm not supposed to be here."

"It's okay," she whispered, but he wouldn't hear it.

"Don't you think I can tell if I'm where I'm supposed to be?"

Michael guided him away from the tight place between the chair and the coffee table, in spite of his argument, toward the hallway. "You can't go anywhere tonight, Mr. Flax," Michael said while nearly tripping over scattered Monopoly pieces. "We'll see about getting you a cab tomorrow."

He didn't have to look back to know the face Mrs. Flax was making. "What are you talking about?"

"We _will_ ," Michael added pointedly, gritting his teeth as a sign for her to follow his lead. "In the morning. Just follow us."

Mr. Flax made a noise of confused protest, but continued to walk behind Michael as he turned into the hallway and headed down toward the staircase. Mrs. Flax stayed behind her husband, even as they reached the steps. There, Michael loosened his grip on Mr. Flax's arm and loosely led him up to the second floor of the house — without a word exchanged.

As they headed down the hallway, Mr. Flax grumbled, "I should be leaving _now_. They'll be wondering where I am. I should be leaving now."

Neither of them responded to this, and instead walked silently down the hall, to the very last door on the left. That was when Mrs. Flax stopped him, and Michael turned to open the door wide for Mr. Flax.

"There you go," Michael said softly, gesturing for the man to enter the bedroom. "Sleep well, Mr. Flax."

Mr. Flax muttered something in response as he barreled past Michael and Mrs. Flax, leaving the door open behind him. They were both quiet as they listened to Mr. Flax's walking around, until the bathroom door shut resoundingly, and the night was silent again.

In the dim-lit hallway, Mrs. Flax turned back to Michael, and whispered, "Thank you for your help. That was smart."

Michael swallowed, and offered, "Improv."

She raised her eyebrows at him, nodding slowly. "He… he isn't usually like that. His medication wears off late at night, so if you wake him, he gets confused."

He blinked. "Okay… Does Holly-"

"Holly doesn't need to know," she said quickly, looking down the hall. "It'll only upset her to know… how it gets, sometimes. She'll think she came too late, and she hasn't."

"But wouldn't she want to know?" Michael asked.

"Not really," Mrs. Flax replied without a doubt in her tone as she turned around. "She'd want to be _told_ , but she wouldn't want to _know_. I'd really appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, Michael."

And he did feel that she was right, to save Holly's feelings on the issue — but it felt wrong to actively _keep_ something from his fiancee. He wanted her to trust him with things — things like A.J., and her job, and her family issues — the same way he trusted her. But he didn't want to hurt her, either.

"Can I trust you?" Mrs. Flax asked then, lowering her voice so as not to be heard by her sleeping daughter down the hall.

Michael hesitated to reply, struggling to come up with an answer that wouldn't hurt Holly, but wouldn't jeopardize his tentative position in the family - and really, was it any of his business? He'd just walked into a complicated family dynamic; he didn't know what he knew or didn't know. It wasn't his place to say anything yet.

"Yes," he said, without thinking. "Yes, you can trust me."

* * *

 _ **Sorry if updates get a little slow this week. I caught a fuckin' cold, the same week I'm supposed to be starting therapy, so things are a little complicated at the moment. Wish me luck, and thanks for reading.**_


	14. Back to Where I Was

**Chapter XIV**

 **Back to Where I Was**

* * *

 _Every time I start to change my mind again…_

 _It brings me back to where I was._

\- "Back to Where I Was" by Eric Hutchinson

* * *

The office building was nice, if a little chilly.

Holly hadn't prepared for it to be so cold, but now that she stood here, shivering in the elevator, she wondered if she would break out the heavy coat next time. Her experience had fooled her; every office she'd ever occupied had been a bit hot, prompting her to wear lighter clothes even in colder weather, even though she was a naturally cold person. But this was a new level of freezing, and Holly hoped she'd be able to keep her teeth from chattering when she met her coworkers for the first time.

The third floor fast approached, and this was where she'd be working in the future which started today. She couldn't stop peering into her blurry reflection in the metal doors of the elevator, trying to make sure she looked right — couldn't stop straightening out her clothes, which felt a bit tight now that she thought about it. She was informed that she would be working mainly with men, and she didn't want to give the wrong idea about herself. Michael had sworn the outfit looked appropriate, but sometimes, she thought his idea of tastefulness was a bit skewed.

She recalled the time she'd accidentally went to dinner with her dress on backwards, because he'd been in a rush to tell her she looked "awesome" even though they'd just gotten a little handsy before leaving.

She smiled when she thought about it.

They hadn't had any time to goof around that morning, since she'd woken a bit late and had to hurry to be ready on time. Plus, Michael hadn't even been in bed when she woke; when she'd come downstairs to find him eating cereal in front of the TV, he'd wished her luck, but he hadn't given her any real measure of affection. She worried that her mother might have said something to him after she'd fallen asleep the night before. Mom hadn't been chatting his ear off this morning, either.

If her mother continued to play hot and cold with Michael, Holly was serious about considering her options. She would have an income soon enough, and then, they could rent a crappy apartment for all she cared, just to get out of the house. Honestly, as much as she loved her mother, she was tired of worrying that Michael would be made uncomfortable at any given moment.

And not only that, but her father seemed to be in great shape, to Holly's surprise. She'd feared much worse when she'd moved to Colorado, but really, he'd remained fairly lucid since then. It made her happy, to know that Dad was still holding together. Even if he forgot the small things, he certainly seemed together enough to walk her down the aisle in a year.

There was no telling whether he'd be any kind of grandfather figure to her children, but she would take what she could get.

The elevator opened, then, and she stepped out, into the hallway. Her cardboard box of desk things, which she and Michael had packed earlier, was heavier than it used to be — and she'd moved desk things many times. It was strange, this time, to have so many little trinkets that made her smile, including but not limited to: a picture of her and Michael at the Dunder Mifflin company picnic, a little Yoda plush toy Michael had picked up on the drive up to Colorado, her lucky pencil with one of the funny erasers she and Michael had discovered at Staples, and a snow globe with Will Ferrell from _Elf_ inside which they had decided to trade back and forth every week, since they both loved it so much. She was set for a great day, whether the people were nice or not.

The handle to the door was colder than anything else, but as she opened it, she found that the actual _office_ was warm inside. She was greeted with the familiar sound of clicking keyboards and hushed voices, and she smiled at the normality of it all. Holly walked around the corner and into the room, trying to stay quiet…

The room was large, with actual cubicles instead of open areas, and the walls were a nice blue, which encouraged her to keep going. The floor was carpeted and the cubicles were short, offering little privacy. The individual office doors lined the wall on the left, and Holly imagined she would find her way to a boss somewhere around there.

As she walked into the room and down the carpet walkway, she was surprised to feel many eyes on her — and though she tried not to look, she couldn't help it. She surveyed the room briefly, inconspicuously, only to find that nearly _every worker_ in the office was looking back at her. Not only were they looking, but they were staring, and not in a welcoming or even a curious way. They stared blankly at her.

And they were men, every one of them. Not a single woman could be found.

Holly swallowed, looking down at her box as she walked a bit more slowly. She didn't know where she was headed or who she was waiting to find, but she knew she couldn't just stand around with everyone watching. Surely a boss or coworker was waiting for her. They'd specifically asked her to come in today.

Finally, someone peered around the corner of one of the office doors, and his eyes lit up in recognition. "Ms. Flax?"

Her eyebrows shot up, and she stopped at first, shoulders straightening. "Oh! Yes?"

"Hi," the man said, stepping out of the room and into the office. She continued walking, then, to meet him as he already extended his hand. She shook his hand mindlessly. "I'm Christopher. It's nice to meet you."

She smiled politely. "It's nice to meet you. And you can call me Holly, by the way."

He nodded. "That sounds fine. So I'm gonna just- just show you to your desk, if that's okay. I'd introduce you to the boss, but he's out today." Christopher gestured for her to follow behind him as he started walking, slowly at first. "How was traffic?"

Holly observed the room as it changed around them, and replied, "It wasn't too bad. It's my first couple months in state, so I'm still getting used to the directions."

Christopher guided her around a turn, and she followed. "That's always fun. Where're you from?"

"Pennsylvania," she said, watching the back of his head as though it would show his expression. She thought it was strange, how far away from the actual office he was taking her, but she didn't mention it. "Scranton."

"Nice."

Obviously, he wasn't that invested in the conversation. So Holly didn't try to keep it going.

Eventually, they arrived at a small area of cubicles, where she found a clean and empty desk just waiting for her. Christopher stopped there and stepped out of her way, nodding toward the seat. "Here it is. It's a little small, but there should be room for all your stuff."

It was definitely not spacious — and it seemed a bit lonely, to be placed far in the back with only a few people around her. But she imagined this was just the way the office functioned, so she set her things down without complaint, and turned back to Christopher. "It looks fine," she said, nodding. "Should I get situated now, or is there anything I should be doing?"

Christopher seemed to consider this, but shrugged his shoulders. "I guess until Bill gets back, there isn't really any way to get to his paperwork. So I'd say, just take today to figure out the office. Listen in on a few phone calls — see how the place works. Don't worry about it."

Holly blinked at that easy advice, drawing a deep breath and letting it out. "All right, I guess. I'll try not to get in anyone's way… if there's really nothing I can be doing."

He shook his head. "Honestly, I think upper management was really just following protocol, so… You don't need to worry too much about actually _doing_ anything. We don't really use the H.R. department, if you get what I'm saying."

Holly swallowed, not at all sure of what he was saying, but didn't respond before he stepped away from her cubicle with a polite nod and a wave. She slowly turned back to her desk, and her little box of desk things, and narrowed her eyes in focus.

 _They don't_ _ **use**_ _H.R.?_ That didn't sound right. And Holly had a feeling she wasn't going to like the kind of boss who supported that ideal.

Someone was staring again. She could feel it.

It was the man in the cubicle beside her — or rather, all three men in her cube, simultaneously. Except these men weren't staring blankly. They were either amused, or aroused, or angered by her presence. And she didn't want to inspire _any of those_.

So she was cautious as she sat down at her new desk, in her new office, at her new job. She could tell she was under a great deal of scrutiny at this, and every other moment.

* * *

 _ **Setup setup setup, anyway I'm sick and my throat hurts so that's all. Thanks for reading and reviewing and etc.**_


	15. I Could Just Fade Into You

**Chapter XV**

 **I Could Just Fade Into You**

* * *

 _If you were the ocean, and I was the sun;_

 _If the day made me heavy, and gravity won;_

 _If I was the red, and you were the blue,_

 _I could just fade into you…_

\- "Fade Into You" by Nashville Cast.

* * *

So far, the new job was a bust. And she'd had some pretty bad jobs before — especially in high school — but this was worse than anything else she'd ever done.

It had begun promisingly, she'd thought. Her tour guide was kind, if a bit strange, and he'd made sure that by the end of the day she'd seen nearly every room on the floor. She'd met a few interesting characters, including a man named Wesley, who'd stared at her breasts during their entire conversation. There was also Jay and his uncomfortable silence as he looked her up and down and promptly ignored her. Her favorite was Paul, the guy from downstairs, who simply chuckled and asked, "Is this because of that corporate initiative?"

The highlight of the day was when she was informed, due to whispers by the break room, that H.R. was more popularly known as the "P.C. Department." Not only that, but she discovered that the beloved boss, Bill, had fired the last H.R. rep for "nagging him to death."

She was super excited, to say the least.

Anyway, after a long day of doing virtually nothing, Holly felt such relief to be coming home. Her parents' car wasn't outside, so she imagined Michael was out doing something. She had really been looking forward to seeing his cute face tonight. She wanted to just sit down beside him and bury her head in his shoulder and complain about her new job until she fell asleep, if she could just have that and nothing else.

Her mom was gonna tell her to keep at it — to tough out the sexist and unwelcoming work environment — and Holly was going to listen, but right now, it was the last piece of advice she wanted to hear. She could already feel the headache coming on as she wondered what kind of fib she'd have to pass off to convince her mom that the first day had been _great_. As she came up the stairs, she put on the smile in advance, and fished for her key.

Then the front door opened, and Holly jumped a little.

"All right, how much do I owe you?" Michael asked with his wallet in hand, rifling through the pockets without even looking up to see that it was Holly at the door. "I don't know if you take credit card…"

Holly cleared her throat, and Michael looked up.

Michael's eyes softened as the recognition hit him, his expression dissolving into a surprised smile. "Oh," he breathed, eyebrows raised. He looked a bit embarrassed as he put the wallet back into his pocket. "I thought you were the pizza guy."

Her eyebrows wrinkled; she peeked into the house past his shoulder, shifting her purse on her shoulder. "We're having pizza? Mom… hates pizza."

"Well, she won't be eating it," Michael said, "because it's just us for the evening. Your parents went out."

"No," she practically gasped, the weight of her expectations lifting off her shoulders. "We're alone?"

He nodded with a sly grin. "They'll be gone for dinner… and I convinced them to see _Water for Elephants_ , so we should have a few hours to ourselves." At that, he started grinning, and reached for her hands.

She took his hands, smiling widely, and inched up to him teasingly. "What do you want to _do_ with all that time?" she asked, biting her lip. To add to her point, she kicked the door shut behind her.

His eyebrows shot up, and he swallowed, eyes wandering down past hers. "Well," he breathed, now in close proximity to her, "there are a lot of things I'd like to _do…_ but first, I wanna hear how your first day went! Good? Bad?" He was still looking at her body, but he was certainly trying, anyway.

Reminded of that now, Holly's mood soured somewhat. "Not good," she admitted as she stepped back to pull her jacket off. She sighed. "Apparently, I wasn't really hired to do anything. The manager thinks of H.R. as a formality, so the odds are, I'm gonna have to fight my way into every meeting."

Michael furrowed his brow as he took her jacket from her and tossed it back on the coffee table. "It's not that easy, is it?"

"It's not looking that way."

"You can't just _avoid_ H.R."

She found herself unbuttoning her blouse, mindlessly. "I didn't think so."

"If there was a way, I would have found it by now. Is there really a way?"

Holly scowled, giving him a nudge in the center of the chest. "I thought you loved H.R."

"I do now." He smiled shyly at her and watched, heavily interested, as the last button of her blouse came undone and revealed the garment beneath. His lips parted as if to continue speaking, but he instead observed her with great care.

She pursed her lips to one side, eyebrows raised. Her shirt landed on the floor.

Michael swallowed, obviously struggling to stay intelligible now. "I'm sorry you had a bad day…"

"Mhm," she said as she looked over his face, hardly listening to him now as she felt the undeniable distraction — the wave of feeling as she realized how damn _handsome_ he really was. It was all over his face and in his hair and his eyes, sloping down his shoulders and sliding down his chest, and down, _down_ … He was stunning.

He was breathtaking.

"What are _you_ thinking about?" Michael muttered as he must have noticed her wandering gaze — her topless body landing against his and her hands wiggling underneath his shirt.

She smiled warmly and leaned up to his chin, with her breath sent to tickle his neck as she whispered under doe eyes, "I'm thinking about skipping pizza…"

His eyes widened playfully while his arms wrapped around her bare waist. "Oh, that's an interesting proposition."

"Is it an offer you can't refuse?"

"Yes, it's an offer I can't refuse," he said, _Godfather_ -style.

Holly raised her eyebrows, trying to think of a reference to shoot back — but unfortunately, her mind was quite blocked right now. Something about looking into his eyes, so deep and so near that her vision grew a bit fuzzy from focus, and feeling his warmth surrounding her, had her more than distracted. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

He was just right there, and he had her speechless. So she gave up talking, and kissed him.

Michael jolted a bit in surprise, which sent shivers up her skin in record time. She stretched up to kiss him better, then, coming down hard and drawing out slowly, feeling every nerve on her lips light up, and her eyes fluttered shut; as his fingers wiggled under her bra strap and her hands slid lower, out of his shirt and down into the back of his pants…

Then he groaned, causing her to part her lips, to welcome him in. His hands fiddled with the hooks at her back, while her hips landed flush against his. Butterflies filled her stomach as her hands slipped around to tug his shirt, her mind _racing_ with ideas for the next few hours — until she felt her thoughts fade out, and, as he backed her up against the doorframe, his brow furrowed and her cheeks heated, she found herself near-drunk on his lips, and starting to wane…

Finally, she had to release him, muttering, "-upstairs, to the bedroom," between kisses. She pulled on his shirt again, the back of her hands soft on his stomach and rising up to his chest, completely burying herself under his clothing a limb at a time. Only for this brief time was her mind still functional, before his hands came around to her sides and guided her backward…

It wasn't really until that moment, or the ones following, when it became real to her. As she was tripping over him, clumsily keeping her lips on his no matter what the cost, knocking over something or another along the way to the staircase — feeling his laugh vibrate down her throat and echoing back, as they made complete fools of themselves through the house — out of her pinchy shoes and tight blouse and away from the scrutiny of coworkers or parents or strangers — and just _here_ , with him and only him, it became real. This was why she was here. This was why she'd left Nashua, and then Scranton, and her good jobs, and her good home. This was why she would continue to put up with her mother until they could find an apartment, and this was why she would suffer through this new workplace despite its many challenges; and this was why she didn't have to be scared about any of these choices, even though turning her life upside-down was likely the craziest thing she'd ever done, and even if she wanted to turn back, she couldn't, and…

It was all for him.

Everything that was happening was all in the effort to come home to him.

Everything she did now seemed to be for her mom's and dad's happiness, and for her future children, and for her financial future and for her dream job and dream house and dream life, but all of that was the ultimate goal — none of that was here now, with her. But Michael was at her side, doing it with her. He was her partner in crime, now.

So as hard as it was, in this moment, when she had only just recently begun to think separately from the body and the event, she pulled back and breathed, "I love you, Michael."

He nodded quickly, muttering, "I love you," and captured her in another kiss.

She just had to smile, knowing that he could just never know how much he meant to her.

* * *

 _ **R.I.P. my throat, which feels like sandpaper at this moment. Also R.I.P. my pride. I hate reading my old writing. Why why why why did I write like this omg**_

 _ **Anyway thanks and shit.**_


	16. No One Knows Anything but Us

**Chapter XVI**

 **No One Knows Anything but Us**

* * *

 _We are surrounded by all these lies,_

 _And people who talk too much._

 _You've got the kind of look in your eyes, as if no one_

 _Knows anything but us._

\- "Tenerife Sea" by Ed Sheeran.

* * *

 _Michael Scott, Director of Paper Distribution — married, father of four, owner of mansion and best friend to Meryl Streep._

That was what his obituary was going to say. It actually made him excited to die one day.

Of course, he wasn't married yet, and Holly wasn't even pregnant, and he was currently living with his parents-in-law… and he'd never "officially" met Meryl Streep, although that was definitely coming. And he wasn't the director of paper distribution for the Department of Natural Resources in Boulder, Colorado.

But that was only an interview away.

Mrs. Flax was a goddess by the dictionary definition, because she and her unfathomable local connections had found out about an _internal hiring_ for this high-ranking position, and had convinced the hiring committee to take an outsider for an interview. Michael was that outsider. He had an interview scheduled in two-and-a-half days.

And he was gonna nail it.

 _That's what she said._

The nerves hadn't kicked in yet, but they would, since he'd blown every interview he'd had so far. For now, though, he was the cow — the one that jumped over the moon — because he was going to _kill it_. He was going to _kill it_ _ **dead**_. All he had to do was practice hard and possibly bring a thumbtack in his pants pocket, just in case he started rambling and couldn't stop himself.

Also putting him up on a high was the fact that he hadn't told Holly yet; and when he did, she was going to be so happy, and they were going to have a bunch of sex.

Also bringing him down from the high was the fact that he hadn't told Holly yet; and when he did, she would most certainly pretend not to be upset that his life was going so much better than hers. And he would have to feel guilty, because that's what women did — they had sex with successful men and made them feel guilty.

He already hated that things weren't going so hot for Holly right now. It wasn't fair that she could be a really good person but the world could be sucky back — and it was really being sucky. Her mom was keeping a _huge_ secret from her — and so was Michael, but he was working on that — and her dad was forgetting stuff and her job was, so far, being a bitch. It made it really hard for him to be happy right now.

He was still pretty happy, but not all the way.

Still, it was difficult to decide how to proceed as he waited outside her building, the car blasting heat against the particularly-cold day, but his toes still frozen inside his shoes. Part of him wondered if the news would make her happy — and then, before she could feel sad about her job, he could tell her the good news and she'd be happy and everything would be great. But if she started talking about how bad her day had been and he just blurted out _his_ good news, wouldn't it just make her angry?

He hadn't decided yet, unfortunately. He was interrupted by a soft knock on the window, which made him jump in surprise. He looked over to the passenger door, where, through the fogged-up glass, Holly stood with a little smile on her face.

He liked to see her smile. This job had been taking her smiles away for almost a week now.

Then he realized the car was locked, so he jabbed the button quickly to let her inside, safe from the cold. They had both gotten smart by now and started dressing warmer, decked out with scarves and even mittens some days — in the middle of spring.

"Hey," she breathed as she bounced into the car, swinging the door shut hard and dropping her purse down at her feet. She huffed cold air loudly, a sheepish smile on her face, and buried herself in her coat. "It's freezing! Yeesh!"

"Yeesh!" Michael echoed with a nervous smile, going Foghorn Leghorn. "I say, I say, that's a cold blizzard, there, son. It's freezin', son!"

" _Freezing_ , that is!" Holly said out the side of her mouth. "I say, I say that zen's one-hundred percent free, son."

"That's a joke- I say, that's a joke, son," Michael stuttered.

Holly chuckled, shaking her head. "I love you," she said with a sigh. "How was your day?"

And Michael raised his eyebrows, mouth opening to tell her just how his day _was_ … but he stopped himself. As he watched her buckle her seatbelt, having given up entirely on the Looney Tunes showdown — and she sure as hell hadn't run out of ideas — there was endless material there, and most of her character impressions were pretty spot-on — and looking down at her hands in a most silent, thoughtful way, he could feel that she was down again. His expression fell, disappointed.

"Mine was okay," he lied as he looked her over. When she looked up at him, he added quietly, "What about you? How was everything at work?"

Holly inhaled, hesitant to respond, and her eyes wandered from his. "It was fine," she eventually replied, that sheepish smile returning — not sheepish in a good way, but in that hidden, "I'm-keeping-my-feelings-to-myself-again" "don't-worry-about-me" way, which he never believed for a second. The fact that she didn't say anything more suggested that there was definitely more to tell.

After a moment, he asked again, "How were the guys? Were they nicer today?"

She considered this apparently, and shrugged. "They were fine."

"No, they weren't," he countered, reaching out for her hand. "Come on. Complain to me. I wanna hear it."

"No, you don't."

"Yeah, I do, I really do," he insisted. Looking into her eyes, he added in a lower tone, "C'mon, out with it."

She smiled at that, glancing down at her lap, and finally muttered, "It's not even much to talk about. They're just men. They did their man things."

"Like what?"

Holly bit her lip and rubbed her eyes lightly. "Like hazing and stuff. I'm the new coworker. I'll ride it out eventually."

Michael didn't particularly like the sound of that, and furrowed his brow, glancing in the rearview mirror at the building. "What kind of hazing?"

She shrugged. "Pranks, you know. Jokes on email, poking fun. Nicknames. Nothing too bad."

He supposed that didn't sound too bad, so he finally relented, taking the car out of park and backing out of the parking spot. Still, he had to ask, "Are they clever nicknames?"

"No," she said immediately, shaking her head. Her expression fell, visibly uncomfortable about the whole ordeal.

Michael pulled out of the parking lot. "Maybe you should report that to someone," Michael insisted, hardly listening. "You shouldn't be harassed at your work. Make a complaint to H.R."

"I _am_ H.R., Michael," she said, and turned to watch the windshield as she continued. "The manager has been on vacation all week. Until he gets back, there's really no way for me to file a complaint."

"Then when he gets back on Monday," Michael reasoned.

Holly sighed. "I still can't."

"Yes," he said, nodding. "Yes, you can. You need to."

"I can't."

"Why not? They can't just treat you however they want!"

"I just got this job!" Holly argued. "There haven't been any prior complaints, and these people have worked together for years. All complaining will do is make them hate me more, and probably tick off my new boss."

"Well, that's stupid," Michael muttered, and stopped himself from continuing. Obviously, this was only making her day worse, and he wanted it to get better quick so that he could tell her the good news. But it was hardly a good time now, since he was frustrated, too, and they were about to go home to dinner with her parents, which wasn't good for anybody's health.

The car ride was silent for a little while, as Michael subconsciously made his way through a route that grew more familiar after the first few days of picking Holly up from work. He could feel her silence beside him, and he wanted to fix it.

So he sighed, and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for harping. I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispered, leaning against the car door, her forehead buried in her hand. "I don't know… Maybe it'll be different after the first week."

Michael didn't know what to say to make it better, truthfully. There wasn't really anything to be said about it.

There was, however, waiting perfectly in place on the right side of the road, a sign which caught his eye and simultaneously brought a smile to his face.

 _Well, hello, there._

He tried to be discreet in slowing down as the sign grew nearer, but the area was already so full of traffic that the change was almost inconsequential. Holly didn't seem to notice, though she continued to stare out the window, probably lost somewhere in thought — absentmindedly tracing a fingernail along the seat. Michael reached down quietly, taking her hand in his. Without looking, she tangled her fingers in his naturally.

He was lucky to find a parking spot, so he took it quickly. This, of course, caught Holly's attention and confusion. She looked around the vehicle, and over at him, squinting. "Why are we stopping?"

Michael wore a little smile as he replied simply, "Puppies."

Then he opened his door and stepped out, swinging it shut before she could ask anything else. Her expression was cute as he came around to open her door — her eyebrows arched and her mouth hinting at a grin. She unbuckled her seatbelt before Michael had reached her side.

As soon as he opened her door, she asked, "Aren't we gonna be late for dinner?"

"Yep."

When he reached out his hand to help her out, she hesitated to accept it, curiously peering into his eyes up above. "Mom'll be mad," she warned as he pulled her up to the sidewalk. Pressing her lips together, she added, "I don't know if I have the energy to deal with her today."

But Michael shook his head. "I don't think it'll be a problem," he said, and kissed her quickly on the lips.

So they headed down the sidewalk a bit, until they arrived at the front door — or rather, the window, where they could easily see inside the large pet store. Holly's eyes lit up, to his relief; and they walked in, their entrance drawing the employees' attention toward them immediately.

The building smelled like pet shampoo and dog treats, which were, combined, some of the best scents in the world in Michael's opinion. As soon as they walked in, they caught sight of one of the workers there, and Michael flagged him down, waving a hand out. "Excuse me!"

The man stopped, looking over at them, and replied, "Yes, sir. Can I help you with anything today?"

"Yes, sir, you can," Michael said, and smiled a bit at Holly before looking back at the employee. "Do you have any doggies available for meeting and-or cuddling?"

"Yes, sir," he said with a grin. Turning back around, he pointed toward the far right side of the building. "We've got some rescues back there. They're up for adoption, so if you guys make any friends, grab a form."

"Thank you," Holly said softly.

"You're welcome," he said. "Just let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

Michael nodded, and the man swiftly went on his way, leaving the two of them to start ahead toward the side wall, where the puppies awaited.

As they walked, Michael tried to make eye contact with her, but it wasn't easy. She was distracted by the fish, which was always her favorite part — and Michael had considered buying her one, but she always said she wouldn't like the smell. Still, she really seemed to like them…

So he stopped walking, and squeezed her hand so that she stopped beside him. She blinked up at him, a lost look in her eyes, and asked, "What?"

"Do you wanna see the fish first?" he asked, a hint of teasing in his voice. He didn't really get it, to think that someone would actually want to look at fish rather than puppies…

Holly bit on her smile and mumbled, "Maybe…"

"Okay, let's do it," he said with a chuckle, and kissed her cheek. Holly's cheeks turned a little pink and she rested her head on his shoulder. He rested his head on hers, then; and they turned back to go see the fish.

"Hey, you never told me how your day went," Holly remarked as they went. "Did you go out?"

Michael shook his head and mumbled, "Nope, I didn't. I did have that Skype interview with GE, though."

"Oh, right! How did that go?"

"The interviewer was nice," he said. "She asked me a bunch of questions I didn't totally understand, and she didn't seem to notice when I Faked It 'til I Maked It."

"Oh, good," she said with a laugh. Then she let go of his hand and reached around his waist, sneaking her hand into his jacket pocket. Peeking ahead at the fish tanks, she added, "Have you heard back from any of the other companies? Second interviews or anything?"

"Not yet," he admitted. And he was being honest.

When they reached the tanks, Michael wasn't too sure where to begin, or which fish Holly would even want to see. Fortunately, her attention was immediately caught by something, and she guided his steps.

"These are pretty," she mumbled as she came near to a tank, and stretched up to peer inside the tank. Michael followed her gaze toward a few little black-and-white striped fish with big, feathery-looking tails.

"Pretty." He nodded, observing the fish. "I bet he earned those stripes."

"Oh, wow," Holly breathed, bent down now. "Look at her…"

Her eyes had shifted to another area, down below, so Michael leaned down to look with her. He guessed she was talking about the shimmery blue fish with the weird gills. He nodded again. "That's quite a specimen. I'd name her Wendy."

"Bernadette," she said, and lightly tapped the glass to the right. "The one beside her. Isn't she gorgeous?"

"Sure," Michael offered. He didn't really like fish as much as she did. They kind of creeped him out.

Still, it was exciting to watch her get excited about it. Even if she had slipped out of his arms, to walk back and forth along the aisle to look at the different-colored fish — even if she wasn't cuddling puppies like he'd wanted to do, it was what he'd wanted, ultimately, to see her smiling. It was a refreshing shift.

"Look at this one!"

Michael promptly followed her down the aisle a good ten paces, where she was knelt down at the larger tanks below. When he reached her side, he came down next to her, huffing a breath. "Whadda we got down here, huh?"

"It's huge," Holly muttered, blinking at the fish. Michael followed her gaze… and jumped out of his skin.

"Shit-" he started, and jolted back from the tank — because there, right next to his face, was a _bigass_ fish with huge, beady eyes and one of those ugly open mouths that made him feel his own pulse in his ears. Michael caught himself on his hand, regaining his balance. "Jesus. Wow."

Holly was cracking up a little bit, her hand on his arm. "You okay, babe?" she asked between laughs.

"Yeah," he protested, furrowing his brow. "Yeah. _Yes._ "

"Did it scare you?" she asked, grinning widely. "It's not gonna hurt you. It's just a fish."

"I'm not scared," he huffed. He inched a little closer to the tank just to prove his point, and shook her comforting hand off his shoulder. "It's just a fish. I was just expecting something bigger. You kinda played it up."

She narrowed her eyes knowingly, and tugged at his jacket. "Come a little closer, then. Say 'hi.'"

"Hi," he said without moving an inch.

"You're not any closer," she pointed out, eyebrows raised in amusement. She then looked back at the fish — the bigass, freaky creature — and whispered, "His name is Gilligan. He wants to meet you."

So Michael, with every reluctance, did approach the tank again, dropping down to his knees. "Fine. Hi, Gilligan." He tapped on the glass to prove the point. "I'm Michael Scott. Nice to meet you."

But inside, staring at the ugly thing, he was not half as pleased.

 _Go to hell, Gilligan._

Of course, Holly took an inordinate amount of time watching this fish flap its ugly fins around, so Michael stayed there with her. He was eager to go see the puppies, instead; but at least Holly was happy. She looked _really_ happy, actually, and that made him happy. He didn't know how long she would stay happy once they left.

He hated her new job more than she did. He hated how her mom treated her sometimes, too, and he hated that they couldn't buy a puppy, for God's sake. He wished everything would just be fishes and puppies for a little while, and a bit less of everything else.

But he did have good news, and maybe it would count for something.

"Hol," he said, trying to be endearing since his expression was stuck in distaste.

Without looking up at him, she replied in a funny voice, "Mike Wazowski."

Michael took a moment to smile, and set his hand on hers before continuing. "I have good news."

She glanced back at him quickly. "What kind of good news?"

"The good kind," he quipped, brushing a thumb along her fingers. He drew a deep breath. "So you know how your mom has been helping me out with getting interviews?"

"Mhm."

"Well, she got me one… at the Department of Natural Resources, right here in Boulder. As, um, as the Director of Paper, if you can believe that. I know I couldn't."

That got Holly's attention off that ugly fish.

At first, she didn't seem to know what to say, looking at him blankly for a moment. She brushed her hair back from her eyes and sat up, eyebrows raised. "What?" she asked.

"It was an internal hiring!" Michael said, finally letting his enthusiasm loose. "It was supposed to be, but your mom heard about it and got them to give me an interview. I go in this weekend to talk myself up!"

"The Director of Paper," Holly echoed, as the news hit her. "That's… that's perfect for you. You live and _breathe_ paper. You're a shoe-in!"

"I know!"

"That's fantastic!"

"I know!" he insisted, loudly for public but he didn't care. He jumped a bit when Holly pulled him into a hug, tight and unexpected, and great, but still surprising. He hugged her back, and closed his eyes. Holly kissed his cheek, which made him smile even more.

"When did this happen?" Holly asked as she drew back. "When did you find out? Just now?"

"This morning," Michael breathed through a smile. He shook his head. "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't want you to be bummed out because of your job and everything."

"You didn't think I'd be happy for you?" she asked incredulously, blinking at him.

Michael was a little caught off-guard by the question, and shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't want it to rub it in your face."

"Michael," she said with a sigh, shaking her head, her hands sliding up to his neck gently. "I'm happy for you. Of course, I'm happy for you!"

"I know," he admitted. "Sorry. I know you are."

She just smiled, not apparently upset, and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "You don't ever have to keep things from me to spare my feelings, you know. We're a team now, you and me."

Something about that made him feel a little guilty, but he tried to shake the feeling and instead nodded. "I won't anymore. I promise."

"Then you can tell me the truth."

Michael blinked, confused. "What?" he asked a bit rapidly, swallowing.

"Are you afraid of fish?" she asked humorously — and that lifted tons of weight off Michael's shoulders, as he realized that she was only joking.

So he frowned and rose to his feet. "Nope," he said, reaching down to give her a hand. She gave him a look of disbelief.

"Just a little bit."

"Nope."

"You are, though," she said, nodding. "Just admit it."

"I have a distaste for them," he said strictly. "That's it."

She grinned, nudging his arm. "I knew it."

"It's not a fear. It's a distaste."

"Hm. Not a-dat taste?"

He linked his arm in hers, and replied in a Sebastian voice, "No, a-dis taste."

* * *

 ** _As I'm reading through this, I'm starting to enjoy the nonsense a little more. I don't know why I always take myself so seriously. Maybe I'd be happier if I let myself breathe._**


	17. And You're Changing Me

**Chapter XVII**

 **And You're Changing Me**

* * *

 _You change your position, and you're changing me…_

 _Casting these shadows where they shouldn't be…_

\- "The Writer" by Ellie Goulding.

* * *

"Come on."

"Uh-huh?"

"Come on, big kiss. For me."

"You have to tell me I'm pretty first."

Holly grinned, and her shoulders wiggled deeper into his coat. She breathed a foggy breath into his neck, whispering in a cute voice, "You're _pretty_."

"Aw, shucks," Michael whispered, lips landing warmly on hers and contrasting the cold night air of the porch where they stood almost on top of each other — his arms around her waist and her hands buried in his coat pockets, chins tilted up and down to meet each other halfway while Michael lightly pushed her heels back to the ground — she was always stretching up so he took a turn to stretch down — eyes closed and lips moving slowly and breath warm…

She was being a little goofy, teasing his teeth and tickling her fingers up his sides subconsciously, and it felt like relief. He could feel the happiness radiating off her lips — the relief of a better day — and the change. They hadn't talked about work yet, but he knew today had been better. She was inching back into her regular self.

And he loved her regular self.

"-t are you _laughing_ about?" Holly asked in laughter as she retreated from the kiss, looking up at him. Her cheekbones had him momentarily speechless, beaming at him like a human sun. He felt the corners of his mouth beginning to hurt.

"Nothing," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

"What?" she insisted, and punctuated her question with a kiss on his jaw. "Am I doing something funny?"

He shook his head, still grinning stupidly. "Get back here," he mumbled as his lips moved to catch hers again, though she slipped out of his reach.

"Too slow," she teased, biting her lip. Again, he dove in for a kiss — but she dodged him and instead kissed the tip of his nose. "Sorry, you're just too slow. Whoops! I don't know what to tell you-"

Then he caught her again, in a stronger kiss that withstood her giggling, and his hands pressed flat against her back. He tilted his forehead against her, the cold nipping at his nose as it brushed against hers…

The front door opened, suddenly, and Michael jolted — moved to leave the kiss, but Holly's hand quickly landed behind his head and held him there. He inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering half-open in confusion.

"Is this reverse ding-dong-ditch or something?"

Holly opened her eyes just a second, inching back to mutter, "Just a second, Mom."

A few weeks ago, Mrs. Flax might not have taken the hint so well, but she had been learning. So she said nothing, or nothing that they could hear, and stepped back into the house. She shut the door promptly, leaving them alone again.

Holly huffed a little breath — not unlike a teenager, embarrassed by her mom in front of her boyfriend — and added one brief kiss to the number on his lips. "I heard we're having soup tonight. It's one of my favorite recipes."

Michael nodded, sniffing. "That sounds nice," he said through chattering teeth.

At that, a small smile hinted at her face. "Are you cold?"

"Chilled. I'm chilly," he stated instead. His hands inching up the back of her shirt, he added, "Just a little cold."

"Let's go inside," she decided; and her reddening hand wiggled out of his coat to open the front door. Michael released her halfway, and stepped after her, into the wonderfully warm household.

When they entered, the scent of tomatoes and potatoes filled the air in a way no other food really could, sending Michael's senses on a high. He hadn't realized quite how hungry he'd been until now, when he could smell dinner on its way. He naturally sped up, now leading Holly past the living room, while she trailed along, removing her coat and tossing it somewhere on the way.

"What are you doing?" came a sharp question from the kitchen. This drew both of their attention immediately.

"I'm just adding the tomato sauce, like you told me to."

"Oh, damn, Howie. _Damn_ , damn, damn…"

Mrs. Flax stood over her husband's shoulder at the stove, sternly removing her husband's hand from the spoon and taking over, herself. Mr. Flax, confused, asked, "What? What's the matter?"

Michael looked at Holly, who stopped to lean her hands on the counter. "Hey, Mom. How's it going in here?"

Mrs. Flax just sighed, burying her hands in her hair while Mr. Flax walked away resignedly. "Well," she breathed, turning around to face them. She shrugged off her frustration. "Your father just added twice the amount of tomato sauce… and I don't… _damn_ …"

"You don't what?" Holly asked. Michael could feel her shoulders tensing as her tone became softer — as though the gentler she behaved toward her mother, the more it stressed her out. "Just tell me what you need."

"Well, for Christ's sake, Hol! I just needed your father to follow the recipe."

"That's what I was doing!" Mr. Flax shouted from the other room, sounding very clearly embarrassed by the situation. And whenever he was upset, Holly became upset.

"Mom," Holly intervened, her tone controlled. "Hey. He can't help forgetting."

"I know!" Mrs. Flax tossed a hand towel onto the counter, as though she had given up with those words. "I know. I just don't have the _ingredients_ to double the rest of the recipe."

Holly's eyes wandered toward the doorway, toward her _father_ , and she inhaled a deep breath. With that, Michael's hands sneaked under her shirt again — not to get playful, but to rub that one spot on her lower back that always got so tense. When she felt the gesture, she looked sideways at him, expression both frustrated and grateful.

So her voice became less clipped when she finally replied, "We can eat something else, Mom. I can go pick it up."

Mrs. Flax obviously didn't like the idea, pressing her forehead into her hands. "I don't know," she said.

And Michael expected Holly to pick up and leave with that, but she didn't. They all three stood there, in an increasingly-awkward silence, while Holly looked at her mother, who looked at the counter in exasperation. Michael didn't know what to do.

He wanted to fix it, more than anything. It was clear that both the Flax women were under a great deal of pressure, and if one was unhappy, the other would surely be, too. He knew that having a sucky job, or a forgetful husband, were both draining and unfixable issues…

But darn it, Michael had come here to _help._

"If you give me the recipe," he said, cutting into the silence, "I can run to the store and pick up the other ingredients. If you want."

They both wore surprised expressions at that, eyes on him. He cleared his throat for emphasis, and glanced between the two for a response.

Mrs. Flax's hand dropped from her face and her eyes shifted from the counter, downward, in deep thought. Her lips muttered something to herself silently; otherwise, she did not respond for a period.

"Good idea," she finally said, eyes lifting to his gaze. Mrs. Flax stepped away from the counter while tugging her apron loose with one mindless finger. "But not for you."

Michael blinked, raising his eyebrows as he glanced sideways at Holly. "What?" he asked, though he was afraid to speak.

"I'm going to the store," Mrs. Flax said, and inched past him to get to her coat on the kitchen chair.

Instantly, Holly tried to stop her. "Mom, let one of us go out. The traffic is crazy out there."

"You two stay here and keep the soup going," she said, as though Holly had never spoken. With purse in hand and coat over shoulders, Mrs. Flax's blonde head of hair escaped from view, heading for the door.

Holly sighed, and called halfheartedly, "Mom!"

"I'll be back in half an hour!"

The front door slammed shut, bringing the discussion to a rude end.

So they were alone again, so shortly after they'd arrived home, and Michael didn't think he minded it. Holly's energy wasn't half so dark when her mother wasn't around to fight with her — at least, it wasn't recently — and only seconds after Mrs. Flax had gone, Holly was visibly less tense. Still, her expression was clearly droopy.

"It's all right," Michael said, though she hadn't asked. His hand curled around her waist to pull her into an embrace, which she accepted numbly. "Be happy."

"She's so short with him," Holly mumbled as she watched the empty doorway where her mom had exited. In the pause, Mr. Flax's steps audibly ascended the stairs. "I wish she'd just give him a break sometimes."

The strange part was that Michael couldn't entirely agree with her, because he knew a bit that she didn't know. He could still clearly remember that one night a week ago, when Mr. Flax had nearly lost his temper on her, forgetting where he was and who they were. Holly had been asleep, and Michael hadn't thought it was his place to tell her what her mom was keeping from her. But he was wondering if he should.

For now, he took her hands and tugged her back, toward the counter. "Let's make some soup," he offered softly. She didn't move at first, as he shuffled backward on the linoleum. "Come on."

Holly followed him as he navigated backward toward the stove, and when his back hit the corner of the refrigerator, she broke a little smile. He then reeled her in closer by one hand while the other grabbed for the ladle on the stovetop. "For you," he said, holding it out to her.

"Why, thank you," she said, and accepted the utensil. Michael stepped back to let her scoot in front, to look into the pot. "Did she say anything about what to do next?"

Michael frowned. "I don't remember…"

But it didn't seem to stop Holly, who immediately grabbed a fork off the counter and poked it into a saucepan beside the pot. She forked what looked like a carrot and held it up, in deep thought, before looking back at him. "Sugared carrots are ready," she said naturally. Then she set her hand on his chest and added, "Grab a couple aprons from the closet, please."

He nodded quickly and turned to cross the kitchen for the aprons. The closet door was sticky, but he managed to pry it open, and peeked inside. There, he found a small hoard of aprons of all different colors and shapes. His eyes widened. "Any preferences?"

"Between?" Holly asked.

Michael shrugged. "Pretty much anything you can think of."

"Really? How about the Smurfs?"

He didn't even have to look to know, but he looked anyway, and leaned back to reply, "No, but I'm seeing a Winnie the Pooh that's calling your name…"

"Ooh, hell yeah," Holly said, shaking something into the soup without measuring. "I think there's a Superman one in-"

" _Kickass_!" Michael cut her off accidentally, enthusiasm bubbling over as he pulled out an orange apron. "Tigger!"

Holly's voice trailed off, and he heard her chuckling.

With the two aprons in hand, he returned to the kitchen, the closet door swinging shut behind him. He stopped, then, to slip his apron over his head, and tied it behind his back. "Glazed carrots, huh?" he asked, as he watched her slide the carrot slices into the pot. "Need help?"

"Apron me." She extended her arm, and began mixing the carrots into the soup. Michael approached, and set the yellow apron in her open hand. She smiled at him quickly. "Thank you."

Michael nodded as he watched her, only taking a second to slip the apron over her head before she continued with the soup. For a brief while, she didn't speak, completely focused on the soup… and it intrigued him, to watch her sprinkle in salt and others alike, as though she had been doing this all her life. She'd always claimed to be a bad cook.

"You seem like you know what you're doing," Michael remarked, leaning on the counter. "I thought you hated cooking."

Holly's eyes were smiling, though her tone was quiet. "Well, Mom was always busy at the restaurant, and Dad usually got home about dinnertime, so I ended up cooking most nights… starting from when I was elevenish."

His eyebrows shot up. "Wow. What about homework?"

Holly shrugged. "Did it afterward."

"Chores?"

She looked at him strangely, and replied, "After that. Why?"

"I don't know," he admitted quickly, unable to rid himself of the shocked expression on his face. "That's just… I never had to cook, growing up. My mom always did… She was a great cook."

"So's my mom," Holly said. And she glanced back at the doorway again, as though her mother might have come back and would hear her, and lowered her voice. "She just couldn't keep herself away from work, you know. That was one of the reasons I was scared to move out. I didn't know if they were gonna feed themselves."

Michael nodded, sobered to silence for a moment. He watched her hand on the spoon in the pot, stirring slowly in a transfixing motion, swirling through the red liquid and the cut-up carrots and potatoes — watched her eyes, focused but dreamy on the pot, hardly wavering…

He pressed his lips together hard, trying not to ask it but just unable to contain his curiosity. "Did you ever…" he said hesitantly, "bake, or anything?"

Looking up from the pot, Holly met his eyes, a surprised expression on her face. "Some," she said eventually, shrugging. "Mainly in college, when my roommates would want something sweet. Why?"

Michael shrugged. "Had a hunch."

That caught Holly's interest, and she turned, leaning her hip against the stove, to face him. "How?" she had to ask, with an intrigued smile. Absentmindedly, she set the lid on top of the pot as she watched him.

Again, he shrugged, and replied with a lisp, "'Cause you're tho thweet."

And she smiled, just like he knew she would. "Well, I do," she began, in a Winnie-ish tone, "enjoy the occasional pot of honey."

"Oh-ho," he said, stepping closer to her and her adorable voice. "Well, why don't I just..."

He hopped across the inches of floor between them, and grinned. "...hop on over and give you a little sugar, myself?"

Holly smiled at his intimation, her cheekbones making an appearance which rendered him utterly speechless. "We're getting into dangerous territory, here," she warned.

Michael shook his head vaguely as his fingers hooked her by the straps of her yellow apron, reeling her in. "I don't mind," he mumbled, leaning in.

"Should we really be turning this into a Winnie-and-Tigger roleplay?" she asked, and that brought him to a full and automatic stop, just a bit away from her lips. Her eyebrows rose suggestively. "Seems kinky."

It amazed him that somehow, the simplest things could make her blush, but she could blurt out something like that without blinking. Maybe it was only when other people were around that she had a hint of modesty.

He liked the surprise.

"Well, I'm not sure if I can kiss you now," he admitted playfully, and rubbed the fabric of her apron between his fingers. "Not with these on."

Holly caught onto his teasing and shrugged. "I completely understand."

"Actually, I think I can manage," he said quickly, and pulled her in for a soft, prolonged kiss on the lips.

And once he settled in there at her mouth, he sighed instantly — probably out of both contentment and anxiousness. It was a different kind of anxiety from when they were avoiding her parents, or when he knew she was upset, or anything else. It was instead —and he knew this feeling well — the intense desire to have sex with her. They hadn't done anything in almost five days, which made up one-hundred and twenty hours added up, all because of her job stress and changed bedtime schedule. And tonight was the weekend, which meant they had to seize the opportunity.

Plus, she tasted like sugared carrots, which made the whole process that much more enjoyable.

They were not interrupted too soon, but when the sound of something sizzling caught Holly's attention, Michael had to let her go. He followed her looking down at the pot of soup, which was now running over the lid and onto the burner. Immediately, her hand jerked up to remove the lid, releasing a cloud of steam into their eyes.

"Whoops," Holly said between coughs, shaking her head and waving the steam away. She turned quickly to Michael, with watery eyes, and let go of his apron reluctantly. "Can you grab a towel from the hall?"

"Sure," he said, head bobbing, and turned away to leave.

He hurried out of the kitchen area and headed through the nearer doorway, into the home theater. The TV had been left on _Iron Man_ , though, at just the moment where Tony Stark fights the Iron Monger — his second-favorite part — so he did stop for a second to witness the action.

"Did you ever see _Iron Man 2_?" Michael called back into the kitchen.

Something clanged in the sink, and Holly replied, "Yeah, why?"

"When's the new _Avengers_ movie coming out?"

"The towel, honey?"

Michael immediately hopped off the arm of the couch. "Right, right, right…"

But he was still curious, so on his way, he pulled out his phone to look it up. He rounded the corner naturally, without looking up from the screen — so naturally that it surprised him, how well he knew this house — searching for _Avengers movie rel…_

He then stopped typing, because a notification popped up in the way.

 _1 new voicemail._

Surprised, he tapped to listen, and held it up to his ear while he pulled the closet door open with his other hand. He rifled through for a big enough towel, and found one quickly, tossing it over his shoulder.

" _Michael! Hey. It's Jim."_

" _And Pam!"_

Michael stopped what he was doing.

" _And Pam,"_ Jim's voice added.

" _And Cece! Say 'hi', Cece! Say 'hi'."_

Something shuffled in the background, sounding like a little Cece playing with the phone. Michael instantly smiled a little bit.

" _Sorry if we interrupted anything. Pam and I just wanted to call and see how you were doing."_

" _We know you're having fun, but it wouldn't kill you to call once in a few_ _ **weeks**_ _,"_ Pam said, half-teasing. " _Everyone really misses you."_

" _So,"_ Jim continued, " _if you find some free time this weekend, we all got called in on Saturday. Skype us. We're... literally dying from boredom."_

" _Bring Holly, too! And tell her we're all really happy that she found a new job! And tell her that we hope her parents are doing okay! And tell her-"_

" _It's just a voicemail, babe."_

" _-two need to set a date already!"_

" _Pam."_

" _What?"_

" _You can't just tell them to set a date."_

" _Well, it's been a few months."_

" _They_ _ **just**_ _moved."_

" _So?"_

"Michael?" Holly called from the kitchen, interrupting the message. He pressed the phone closer to his ear, trying to hear the last of it.

" _All right, well, bye, Michael. Don't stand us up."_

" _-was just a suggestion. Oh, bye Michael! We love you! Bye!"_

The phone clicked, and the message was over.

It took him a moment to finally take the phone away from his face, in case they were still going and the voicemail wasn't actually finished — but it was. So he looked down at the screen, seeing Jim's name in his contacts list. He checked for the time of the message — _5:58 P.M._ He'd been driving at that point, so he'd missed it.

They'd missed him. _Everyone_ missed him.

"Hey," Holly said, causing him to jolt back from the closet and shut his phone off all at once. He turned to look at her, and saw the amusement on her face as she watched him stumble for balance. She raised her eyebrows. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he shot back, nodding. "Yeah, I'm good. I'm fine. Great, actually. I love you."

"Can I have- oh," Holly said in surprise. "I love you, too. Can I have the towel?"

"Sure," he said, and volunteered the towel from his shoulder, dropping it into her hands. Swallowing dryly, he added, "Sorry. I got distracted."

"I see that." With a small smile, she leaned in and kissed his cheek, whispering there, "Coming?"

"Yeah," he assured her, kissing her cheek right back before she stepped away. He blinked after her vacantly, slowly shutting the closet door behind him.

Michael blinked down at his phone, and felt a lump in his throat.

Everyone really missed him.

* * *

 _ **Sorry for the late update, but this fantastic fuckin website has been down (at least for me/my internet provider) for several days. I'm finally coming off this cold, getting my voice back, smelling things, seeing colors, finding gods, etc. etc. etc. Leave a review if u still here fam! Keep it tight. Bye.**_


	18. You've Got Your Demons

**Chapter XVIII**

 **You've Got Your Demons**

* * *

 _And you've got your demons,_

 _And darling, they all look like m_ _e…_

\- "Sad Beautiful Tragic" by Taylor Swift.

* * *

Holly wasn't always the most responsible person in the world, but she'd once made a pact with herself to never, under any circumstance except when in childbirth or chased by assassins, break the speed limit. There was never any logic to it, for her. The speed limit was there to be driven _at that limit_ , not ten or fifteen above, and anything else could easily be the difference between safety and danger. She knew she sounded like her father for it, but she just wasn't one to rush.

And today, for the first time in her life, she'd willfully broken that pact. No one was in childbirth, and she was not under attack of the mob. And she was speeding.

Her stupid laptop hadn't been changed to mountain time, unfortunately, which she hadn't realized until ten minutes after her lunch break had begun. So she'd had to race back home at the speed of light, speed limit be damned, to spend her lunch break — or what was left of it — with Michael before his big interview at one.

Michael had said that she didn't have to come home, but it was already decided. She knew how anxious he could get about interviews, and she knew how it often wrecked his chances at getting hired. So she was going to pep-talk him, and do whatever else it took to get those jitters out of his system. If she had to make every impression she knew until her voice gave out, she would do it.

He _needed_ this job, not only because he would be perfect for it, but because they needed to get an _apartment_. And it had to happen soon.

The problem with all this happening today was that, for the past couple of days, Michael hadn't quite been all there, present and aware. It was weird, because she couldn't quite pinpoint when he'd started acting strange, yet it was such a noticeable change. He'd been tossing and turning until late hours last night, and he seemed distracted constantly, even when she tried to talk about the interview — and he kept looking at his phone while they were talking, as if he were expecting someone to contact him. She didn't want to ask him about it yet, because she didn't want him to ever think she didn't trust him… but she was a bit worried. He had turned down _hot chocolate,_ for god's sake.

Fortunately, he hadn't left yet. Mom's car was still in the driveway, empty.

So Holly parked her car haphazardly on the side of the street and hopped out, throwing the door shut. She raced up the path to the stairs, and up the stairs, while one hand shook through her keys for the house key. In her haste, she tripped off the last stair, but she caught herself on the glass door, hand landing with a resounding smack. She winced when her knee took the second half of the fall, groaning to herself, and shoved back onto her feet. She'd just lifted her hand from the glass when the door opened, and her father appeared.

"Hey, Dad," she breathed as she picked up her keys and purse.

Her dad looked at her a bit strangely, and for a minute, Holly was afraid he didn't remember her. There had been a few days more recently that she'd had to remind him when she'd moved in, and how old she was… and who Michael was… but he had never forgotten _who_ she was. And she couldn't deal with that today, of all days.

"Sounded like a bird flew into the door or something," Dad remarked humorously, and opened the glass door for her. "You're gonna kill yourself one of these days."

She chuckled as she passed by him, into the living room. "Is Michael down yet?"

"You get your clumsiness from your mother," he continued without pause, shaking his head. "She says it's from me, but I'm not the one who falls on her rear all the time."

Again, she made a point to laugh, though inside she wanted to tell him to hurry. "That's funny, Dad. Have you seen Michael?"

"Ah, no. He didn't come down for breakfast, I don't think. And Annie just bought his favorite cereal — _three boxes_."

"Okay," she said, nodding quickly, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Dad. I gotta go see him real quick."

"Love you, too," he called after her as she sprinted down the hallway.

She hurried up the stairs, still being careful to plant her feet with each step — because she really wasn't having a coordinated day, it seemed — speeding had thrown her all off — and of course, the working-on-Saturday thing always wrecked her — and the fact that she just got her period last night, but that's… that's not really necessary to mention. Although she might have to address the fact that in her office building, there were no trash cans in the bathroom. That was quickly becoming a problem.

Down the hall, she reached their bedroom door and knocked quickly, more as a warning than as a request, before opening the door. She hadn't considered waiting for a response, really. They'd seen each other naked. And Michael never knocked, either — not even that one time that she was waiting for a pregnancy test, and he had thought it was for a UTI and went to bed with pants on the next night.

But she was wondering if she should have knocked this time, because when she opened the door, his head shot up and he jolted off the bed and lowered his head and looked away all at once.

Holly immediately froze, pulling back a bit. "Oh! Sorry. Sorry, I should have knocked."

"It's fine," he replied, but his voice sounded strained. She knew that fake-okay voice. It sounded a little bit like his Ross Geller impression.

"Can I come in?" she hesitated to ask, biting her lip. She was trying to be sensitive, but it was taking every ounce of strength in her to keep from bursting into the room and asking him what was wrong. She'd known from the minute she'd left him that morning that something was going on. She shouldn't have gone in the first place. "Please?"

"Yeah…"

"Okay," she said, and pushed the door open again. She found him in the same place, turned away from her — all dressed up in his suit and tie, ready to go. Holly swallowed, standing uncertainly at the door. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, hands rubbing his face — but then he looked up at the wall, and added in a higher, more choked tone, " _No_ …"

"Michael," she breathed as she stepped over to his side, arms reaching out until he turned around to look at her. His eyes were teary, and he inhaled a deep breath, visibly trying not to cry. All the air escaped her lungs.

"I'm sorry," he said with a sniff, averting his eyes. "I'm okay."

"What's wrong?" she asked softly as she wiped at the corners of his eyes with the backs of her fingers. He hesitated, still refusing to look into her eyes, and she tilted his head down toward her. "Hey. What's wrong?"

At first, Michael didn't look like he was willing, shaking his head and pressing his lips hard together and trying not to look at, trying _really hard_ not to look at her… as though he were ashamed of something.

"Honey," Holly whispered, and he finally looked her in the eyes. She swallowed. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. It's okay."

His gaze was nervous, uncertain, and obviously frightened, though she didn't know why; but he did, finally, reply in a simple tone, "I miss home." And his eyes fell from hers.

Holly inhaled to reply, but he cut her off.

"I miss home. And I didn't want to tell you, because I love you," he said, hands gripping at her shirt slightly. "I love you _so much_ , and I didn't want you to think I don't wanna be with you. I really do, but it's just so…" His voice trailed off.

A little twinge of guilt hit her, as she realized that this was the first time since they'd left, _three weeks ago_ , that he was talking to her about this. She'd been so preoccupied with her parents and her job and his job that she hadn't really… thought about his missing home. He'd never mentioned it.

"I wasn't even really thinking about it until Jim and Pam called me the other day," he continued, looking away as more tears filled his eyes. "They told me they all missed me… and they… wanted to Skype me on Saturday. But I didn't do it."

Holly blinked at him, and pulled him closer to her. "Why?"

Michael swallowed, shaking his head. "Because I'm scared. You know? What if it's never as good here as it was there? What if I hate my job and no one likes me, and… What if I can't even _get_ a job? I keep screwing up all my interviews, and I'm just gonna screw up this one."

Holly frowned at him. "Michael-"

"It's all just falling apart!" he decided with a sad laugh, throwing his hands up. "I don't fit in with Boulder people. They just don't like me. A guy at a gas station threw something at me! And this- this time zone is still screwing with me, and… _damn it_ , I miss our apartment. I miss waking up and sitting in the kitchen in our underwear. I miss…"

"Michael, slow down-"

"I don't wanna let you down," he continued without stopping to breathe, "but I'm gonna, I can feel it. I can't-"

Holly threw her arms around him then, unable to do much else while he rambled, and squeezed him tightly to her chest. His shoulders shook then, as his words broke into choppy breaths — and she held him up as he fell into her embrace, her lips pressing into his neck. She left a few kisses on the skin there, hands running up and down his back, and she breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes landed on her shoulder.

"It's okay," she reassured him, whispering into his ear. "It's okay. Just slow down."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she said instantly, and kissed his neck again. "You're not letting me down. You're never gonna let me down. Just think about what we've done since we got here."

"What?" he asked, sounding hopeless.

She smiled a little bit, looking up at the picture on the wall as she whispered, "We smoothed things over with my parents. We found me a job, and we're about to get you a great one. We found an apartment we really like. We already figured out the grocery store, and the mall… We're practically through all the hardest parts."

Michael didn't respond to that, sniffing, and simply turned his head further into her neck. Eventually, he mumbled, "I guess that's true."

"And you're supposed to miss home," she continued softly while his breath tickled her collarbone, sending shivers up her spine. "I mean, you were there for _decades_. It's hard to leave and start over… But just because it's hard doesn't mean it's wrong."

"I know," he admitted, though he didn't sound as though he believed it.

Holly sighed, looking sideways at the back of his head. "It's not gonna be the same as Scranton, when you go back to work. It could be even better, but it won't be just like it was. But I can promise you one thing — they are going to _love_ you."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can," she said matter-of-factly, pulling back just enough to see his eyes. "You are funny, and fun, and you're a kickass boss, Michael Scott. They'll have no choice but to love you."

And Michael pretended that he didn't believe it, but he did chuckle a bit, eyes wandering in a way that suggested he… could certainly believe it. It made her want to laugh, a little bit.

"I would know," she added, in the silence, drawing his eyes back to hers. "I was in love with you from three states away. I think that's a record."

He smiled at that, a bit bashfully, and muttered, "Well, you're a weirdo."

Holly raised her eyebrows, and she replied lowly, "No, you ah."

"No, you ah," he replied, leaning in toward her lips.

"No, you ah," she whispered, just before he could cut her off with a kiss.

When he pulled back, his eyes were still shiny, but he seemed to have calmed down, to Holly's relief. He didn't speak at first, just looking at her and blinking the tears away. She could feel the anxiety fading, his muscles relaxing beneath her touch.

After a moment, she had to loosen the embrace with a little grin. "Come on," she whispered, tugging on his shirt. "You don't wanna be late."

* * *

 ** _So I had my first therapy session today, and that went well. I'm exhausted. Enjoy._**


	19. I Must Have Done Something Right

**Chapter XIX**

 **I Must Have Done Something Right**

* * *

 _I must have done something right,_

 _To deserve you in my life…_

 _I must have done something right, along the way…_

\- "If the Moon Fell Down" by Chase Coy.

* * *

"Michael, I don't think-"

"Just wait, and you will see, I promise you," he insisted. Meanwhile, he stirred the last of the sugar into the milk, careful to avoid the Cheerios for the least sogginess possible. He glanced up at her, making sure that she was watching, and nodded slowly. "You have to maneuver the spoon delicately, like an artist's brush, making swirls in the milk… like Van Gogh's swirly star painting. In fact, I would not be surprised if he practiced his brushstrokes with milk before paint."

Holly hummed in agreement. "Saves a lot of paint."

"It absolutely does. He was pretty smart for a guy who cut off his own penis." Michael nudged some of the Cheerios off the side of the bowl, and slid it across the coffee table to her. "There you are. The perfect bowl of Cheerios."

She sat cross-legged on the couch — she called it criss-cross applesauce, and he called it Indian-style, but they wouldn't let it come between them — in her pajamas, her eyes still sleepy and her smile warm. "Michael, he cut off his ear."

Michael blinked at her, then nodded. "Right. I always mix him up with Jesus."

Holly chuckled. "Michael, I don't think Jesus cut off his penis."

His eyes widened a bit, and his mouth opened, turning into a smile. "Well, I guess I'd know that if we'd gone with your parents, instead of staying home like sinners. Whose fault was that?"

"Oh, _you_ were the one who didn't want to disrupt with your _phone call_ ," Holly teased, and reached for her bowl. "I just happened to add that I had cramps, so I could keep you company."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Michael bounced down on the cushion below, arm landing loosely around her shoulders. "Eat your delicious cereal."

Holly pursed her lips at him. "Okay. But I don't think there's a 'right way' to make cereal."

"That's what the government wants you to believe, Holly." He turned the TV on, and scooted in closer to her, resting his messy-hair head on her shoulder. He watched the screen flash on, until the news appeared — which he was expert at never watching ever — and he started searching through the guide. "You gotta think, _think_ …"

The spoon clinked in the bowl, and Holly, with a full mouth, muttered, "Wow…"

Michael looked up into her eyes, smiling. "Right? Right?"

"That's Cheeriously good."

"I know!" he said, and rested his head back on her shoulder. "I Cheeri-know. Ooh, _Friends_."

Holly's eyebrows rose. "Which episode?"

"'The Rosita one,'" Michael replied as he drew her closer. Holly tucked her feet into the cushions, knees leaning against him. "You know what that means."

"'I'm a medical _marvel!_ '"

Holly grinned, and took another bite — then, pointed with her spoon toward the laptop on the table. "Will you hand me that, please?"

Michael glanced up at her. "You're not gonna work, are you?" he asked with a reasonable amount of pout. "'Cause I'll stop you. It's God's day of rest, Holly, which means the angels have to rest, too."

At that, her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, smooth," she remarked, nudging his arm. "I wanna check Facebook. I haven't been on in almost a week."

The commercials were on, to Michael's dismay, so he turned his attention to her. He grabbed the laptop, handing it to her — but when she didn't know where to put her bowl, he set it down on his lap instead and opened it up. They both waited in silence for everything to load.

Out of the blue, Holly turned her head to kiss his cheek loudly. Then she rested her forehead against his temple and whispered smilingly, "You know what I think we should do?"

Michael raised his eyebrows, staring up at the TV screen just as _Friends_ was coming back on. "Get a Barcalounger?" he joked… but he was just a little bit serious. He'd always wanted one, but Jan had told him they were ugly chairs for single men.

Holly, rather, just shrugged. "I mean, we could. But I wasn't thinking about something else."

Since she hadn't immediately shot him down, Michael sat up a bit, and ran with the idea. "Or we could get one of those huge ceramic dogs like Joey and Chandler had…"

"Actually, I was-" she began to say, but she stopped, looking over at him. "You can actually buy one of those?"

He nodded. "Yeah! I actually found a Canadian place that sells them. Wanna see?"

" _Yes,_ but before we do that," she said, while reaching over to use the trackpad. After closing out copious amounts of sticky notes, she found her way to the main screen. "Do you know what time it is on the east coast?"

Michael had memorized that. "It's two hours later, so almost twelve."

"And do you know," she continued, and clicked on Skype, "who's having lunch in Scranton right now?"

And it only took a moment, but Michael did understand what she was implying, in kind of a way. "Obama?" he guessed.

Holly smiled, shaking her head. "Michael…"

And it took another moment, but he really got it, then. " _No_ …"

She said no more, then, as the Skype call rang, but set her empty cereal bowl on the table. Meanwhile, Michael looked into his reflection on the screen, trying to fix his hair before-

The camera shot came into the screen, then, and before he was ready, came the shout: " _ **Hi, Michael!"**_

And he was frozen.

They were not in the office, and he didn't know why he expected them to be on a Sunday — all crowded together on one couch, and smiling at him. It was Jim, and Dwight, and Ryan, and Kelly… and Andy, and Erin, and Phyllis. They all waved at him, flurries of hands on the screen, until a blur ran in front of them.

" _Is he on?"_ came Pam's voice, as she jumped onto the arm of the couch and turned to the camera. She smiled when she saw him. " _Hi, Michael!"_

"Hi," Michael finally managed, completely shocked. He glanced between the screen and Holly's face, finding a smile on her face as she watched him. His eyes widened, then, and he looked back into the camera. "I'm… what- when did…"

Pam could see that he was struggling and explained. " _Holly called us and told us you guys would be free today!"_

"Where are you?"

" _At Pam's house!"_ Erin piped up from on the floor, in the bottom-right corner. " _She invited us to come see you!"_

" _She invited us for_ _ **lunch**_ _,"_ Angela muttered pointedly, glancing at Pam. Pam sent her a sour look.

"Wow," Michael mumbled, overwhelmed. "I… how are you guys?"

In perfect timing, they all started speaking at once.

" _Awful!"_

" _We miss you so-"_

" _-the worst boss-"_

" _-and Angelina won't get married until same-sex-"_

" _Kelly, I doubt he-"_

" _I've been decent,"_ Dwight said just as the noise was quieting down.

"Aw," Michael said, grinning widely at Holly. "I miss you guys, too. Hey, how's Deangelo doing as regional manager? Is he any good? Hopefully not too good."

No one seemed too eager to answer that, at first. They all looked around at the other, gazes landing on Jim — who then lightly shook his head, muttering something — and then to Pam, who quickly turned, mumbling something as she headed toward the kitchen, and offscreen. Then everyone looked at Dwight.

"Did- is he, is everything okay?" Michael stuttered, eyes wandering around the screen. "What happened? Did he touch Phyllis?"

" _What?"_ Phyllis immediately shot back.

" _No,"_ Jim said, shaking his head. " _No, that's- that didn't happen."_

" _Deangelo Vickers is comatose due to a tragic but self-inflicted basketball accident,"_ Dwight droned, and leaned on his fist. " _He was declared brain-dead earlier this month. There was no lawsuit. He's now what medical professionals call 'a vegetable.'"_

Michael's eyes widened, and he glanced at Holly. "Wow. Oh, my god…"

"That's awful," Holly said under her breath. "What kind of… basketball accident could have…?"

" _Jim could tell you more about that,"_ Dwight teased.

" _So how are you guys?"_ Jim asked, redirecting.

Though a bit surprised by the change of subject, Michael looked to his left and replied, "We're… we're pretty great," he said. Holly smiled at him shyly, and he smiled back, and then her smiler got bigger, and so did his. He turned back to Jim. "We're _awesome_ , actually. I mean, the city isn't as bad as I was afraid of. The food's good. The house is good. The sex is _good._ "

"Michael!" Holly said, eyebrows raised but only playfully.

He grinned at her. "Right, sorry. Inappropriate. But yeah, the sex is really- no, no, anyway." Michael drew her closer to his side, kissing her cheek briefly before adding to the others, "We're getting settled in — looking for apartments right now, not settled on anything yet. _Holly_ already has a job, if you can believe it."

" _Congratulations,"_ both Phyllis and Jim said.

" _That's quick,"_ Andy added. " _Who'd ya have to kill?"_

Erin said something inaudible to Andy, who then laughed.

Phyllis then asked, " _Where are you working at?"_

"Uh, Dish," Holly said, nodding. "I'm still an H.R. rep. I start my second week tomorrow."

"She finally gets to meet her boss, too," Michael said. He leaned forward, to look at the bowl of cereal on Holly's other side, and mumbled, "Are you done with that?"

"Oh, sure." Holly passed it to him, and he began eating, leaving the conversing to her momentarily.

" _Do you like it there?"_ Kelly asked.

Holly shrugged. "It's not like Dunder Mifflin — at all — but it's decent. The people are nice… the building stays pretty cold, which is good for productivity. I think I like it, yeah."

" _How are your parents doing, Holly?"_ Phyllis asked from the other side of the screen with a smile. " _Is your dad doing well?"_

Now that caught Michael's attention, because as soon as Mr. Flax was mentioned, Holly's expression soured. His heart slumped a little bit in his chest; and he laid his head against hers in an effort to comfort. Her lips twitched into a half-smile as she replied, "They're both okay. I…"

Her voice trailed off, and her eyes lowered.

" _Oh, what does he know? Come on, Rosita — us chicas gotta stick together!"_

Michael and Holly both looked up at the screen, just in time to see Rachel Green break the Barcalounger in half, and chuckled — both quoting, " _You_ _ **bitch**_ _."_

After a moment, they heard Phyllis's voice. " _Excuse me?"_

Michael glanced down from the iconic _Friends_ scene, into the camera, and then over at Holly. His eyes widened. "Oh! Rachel just killed Rosita," he explained to Phyllis. "Not you. You're- you're not a bitch."

"No, you're not," Holly added, shaking her head.

" _Food's ready!"_ someone called offscreen — and it was Pam's voice.

Michael grinned. "What are we having?"

" _Chicken salad,"_ Ryan replied through his nose. Kelly sent him an annoyed look.

" _Ryan, quit pouting. Not everyone's on your diet, okay?"_

" _I'm not pouting. God."_

" _You're doing that tone. You think I can't tell when you're pouting? I'm not stupid. I know you think I am, but I'm not."_

" _I never said you were stupid!"_

Michael watched this argument for entertainment purposes only — not because he'd missed easily one of the most annoying parts of working at Dunder Mifflin — he wasn't _that_ much of a sap. But he was interrupted by the buzzing of a phone on the other side of the couch.

"That's mine," he mumbled, spoon clinking into his bowl. He reached across to pick it up and looked at the number.

It was a Colorado number.

"That could be them," Holly whispered, nudging his arm. "Answer it."

" _Oh, my god, Ryan, just because I don't care about politics or crap doesn't make me any stupider than you! You just don't value my type of intelligence!"_

" _Knowing how many times Brad and Angelina have had sex is not_ _ **intelligence**_ _!"_

"Hey, guys," Holly interrupted as gently as she could manage, while Michael inched away from her side. "Michael's getting a phone call, and we think it's about a second interview with the Department of National Resources, so…"

" _Oh, that's awesome!"_ Erin enthused.

Dwight made a sound through his nose. " _The Department of Natural Resources. What a joke."_

"Yeah, well, you're a joke, Dwight," Michael replied. Then he held his hand up. "No, I'm kidding, obviously. But yeah, I should take this."

" _Good luck, Michael!"_

" _Yeah, good_ _ **luck.**_ "

" _Just stop looking at me, Ryan. I'm done arguing."_

" _I'm not looking at you,"_ Ryan muttered. Kelly promptly mocked his tone, to which he rolled his eyes, to which she rolled her eyes and turned a bit away from him — or as much away as she could be while squished into a couch with him.

Both Holly and everyone in Scranton were completely silent as Michael first answered the phone, and his eyes locked with Holly's. "Michael Scott," he mumbled, lowering his head.

" _All right, the food's on the counter if you- where's Michael?"_

" _ **Shh!"**_

" _Wow. That's nice."_

Holly chuckled at the screen, which made Michael smile.

Then a less familiar came through the phone, stealing his attention. " _Hello, Mr. Scott. This is George, from the Department of Natural Resources."_

"Hi, George. What can I do you for?" Then he heard it, and quickly amended. "I mean, do for you. I wouldn't want to do you."

He could hear Holly practically smack her forehead.

George cleared his throat. " _Well, I'm glad you wouldn't. That would be a conflict of interest starting Monday."_

Michael blinked, rehearing this statement in his head. He didn't respond, because he thought he understood, but he wasn't _sure_ he understood, and it would be embarrassing…

" _Congratulations, Michael. You've got the job."_

Now he was sure.

"What?" he asked, glancing at her as he listened. Holly's eyebrows rose. "I haven't had a second interview yet."

" _We didn't feel that we needed one. It seems you're the perfect man for the job."_

At that, his jaw dropped. "Wow! Wow, I'm- thank you, thank you."

Holly heard this and silently, enthusiastically clapped for him. He smiled at her, nodding to confirm.

" _All right, well. Can you come in tomorrow and get situated — meet a few coworkers, try out the water cooler-"_

"Sure, yeah. Absolutely. What time?"

" _Let's let people start off their day before we introduce the new boss. How's after lunch sound?"_

"Great," Michael said, throwing his hand up. "I will be absolutely be there, _tomorrow after lunch._ "

Holly's grin widened and she set the laptop down on the table, so that everyone could see Michael's face. Then she stood up and stretched her arms out for a silent hug, which he accepted, and squeezed.

" _Then we'll see you then. Thank you very much."_

"Thank you, goodbye!"

He hung up the phone, and everyone started talking at once, overwhelmingly.

" _Oh my god congr-"_

" _That's so amazing, Mich-"_

" _-knew you wouldn't have any trouble-"_

" _-really great-"_

" _Good luck working for those pinheads."_

" _We're proud of you, Michael,"_ Phyllis announced with a grin.

Erin threw her hand up. " _Internet-five in three, two…"_

Michael lifted one hand from Holly's waist to internet-high-five Erin, and raised his eyebrows at Holly. Holly smiled, kissing his lips quickly. Then he released her from the embrace, though his arm hung around her back.

" _Hey, listen,"_ Andy said, grabbing his attention. " _I'm happy for you, but don't- you can't like the people there more than you like us."_

" _Right,"_ Kelly agreed. " _You have to hate it, and call us and tell us how much you hate it, or else we'll all kill ourselves."_

Jim raised his eyebrows. " _Not, not really. We won't do that."_

" _I'm kidding, obviously,"_ Kelly said, but sent a serious look into the camera. " _But seriously. Hate it."_

Michael chuckled, and tilted his head. "I… will try my best."

* * *

 _ **Sorry for the lateness - holidays and such. I don't know what I'm doing, but here I am, doing it. Enjoy, and thanks as always for reading/reviewing/etc.**_


	20. I Made a Clean Getaway

**Chapter XX**

 **I Made a Clean Getaway**

* * *

 _I made a clean getaway._

 _And I miss you — I miss you every single day…_

\- "Clean Getaway" by Maria Taylor.

* * *

He didn't understand. He had the smart suit, steamed, and the good hair day, and the shined shoes. He had the bright white smile and the clean shave and the new underwear at his aid. His eyebrows were even combed. He had just the right amount of cologne on. He was on his a-game today.

He didn't even have to worry about finding his way to this place, because he wasn't behind the wheel. Mrs. Flax had sneaked away with the other car, so Holly had taken her lunch break to come back and drive Michael to his first day at work. He knew that Holly was angry at her mother for binding them like that, but internally, Michael was singing her praises. He wasn't in any shape to be driving today.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

And they weren't cold, because Holly had turned the heat up. They were just shaking, uncontrollably, for no good reason. When they'd first left, he hadn't been feeling nervous at all — he'd been _pumped_. The guys in Scranton had sent him a thumbs-up selfie from the break room, and Holly had kept his spirits up all morning, even texting him knock-knock jokes after she'd left for work. He'd listened to his Pump It Up playlist all morning — and right now, "Eye of the Tiger" was playing on loop, to keep him in the zone.

But his hands were shaking, and he couldn't get them to stop.

"Are you cold?" Holly asked suddenly. Michael looked up from his hands, finding a slight look of concern on her face as she glanced between him and the road. "I'll turn the heat up."

"That's okay," he said through chattering teeth. Those wouldn't cut it out either.

" _And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night, and he's watching us all with the eeeeeeeye…"_

Michael drummed his fists on his knees, and mumbled to himself, " _Of the tiger…"_

His building was somewhere nearby now, growing closer. The city was different from this side, and he still didn't have any clue where anything was, after almost a month. He couldn't believe he'd gotten a job in the first month of living here. He'd been expecting so much more _time_ …

A warm hand covered one of his, and squeezed lightly, drawing his attention. Michael squeezed her hand back, in the effort to stop the shaking. Eventually, under the brush of her thumb, they did settle down again,

"You're gonna be great," Holly said — of course, because she was a human ray of sunshine. But she didn't _know_ that. He could just as easily screw up and embarrass himself.

"I… _hope_ that you are right," he mumbled, staring out the window.

"Hey," Holly said, tapping the inside of his palm. She lowered her chin seriously. "I believe in you. I believe in you stupid-much."

Michael grinned and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Well, you also believed in Santa until you were twelve."

"Hey, hey, hey," she said, and sent him one of those cute squinty stares. "We don't talk about Santa. Santa betrayed me."

"Oh, right, of course." He nodded, smiling, leaning back into his seat — until something caught his eye through the windshield. He nudged Holly. "Is that- is that it? Is that the place?"

Holly followed his eyes to the side of the street, and rounded right on the red light, until the building was in view. "Yes, it is," she whispered with an excited smile as she slowed down by the curb. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," he decided as he unbuckled his seatbelt; but shook his head slowly, adding quietly, "Not at all, but yes. Is that a parking garage?"

"Looks like it. I'm gonna pull up in front."

"I hate parking garages," Michael continued under his breath. "They're not safe, and they're too dark. I could get raped."

"I have some pepper spray in my purse," Holly offered, and slowed down at the curb.

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Peeper spree."

"Pepper shpray."

"Poipah sproy!" Michael replied Australian-ly. "Croikey, mate! That's a croc!"

"Michael."

"Put tha shreemp on tha bahbie!"

"Michael," Holly said gently, and her gaze shifted toward the passenger door. Her hand inched up his arm, brushing his elbow lightly.

He sighed, nodding his head. "I know… I know. I know. I just gotta do it."

"Just gotta get up and gopher it."

"I just gotta…" Michael began, until his voice trailed off when he looked up at her, and saw the smile on her face. She did not look uncertain at all. Her eyes were bright and her grin was genuine and she seemed to really, _actually_ have faith in him. He didn't know how to react to that.

So he went with his instincts and kissed those smiling, adorable cherry lips — probably taking a bit of her lipstick with him when he pulled back — and he winked at her. "Love you."

"Love you," she whispered, brushing her hand down his hair. "Don't forget your stuff."

"Right," he said, and reached down for the cardboard box at his feet. Then he popped the door open, and stepped out of the car.

The street was louder than he'd been expecting, distracting him for a moment as he looked around. The front doors were right in front of him, just waiting for him — and it was a tall building. It was probably over ten floors.

And one last time, Michael peeked over his shoulder to see her there, smiling at him. He huffed out the last of his nerves, and took the first step up to the doors.

The doors were glass, and through them, he could see a large lobby, with a few people seated in a waiting area, and a person at the front desk, and a pair of people heading through the room toward the turn on the right, probably back from lunch. His heart pounded in his chest as he pulled the door open and stuck his head in the door. His chest deflated a little bit when he heard the car drive away behind him.

He almost didn't walk in. But he did, only because he knew that Holly, and Mr. and Mrs. Flax, and Jim and Pam and Dwight and Erin and Ryan and Darryl and Stanley and Kevin and Phyllis and Andy and Kelly and Oscar and Angela and even Creed and possibly Meredith — _everyone_ he loved or liked, and some people he tolerated — his whole family was behind him. They believed in him.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Michael froze in the middle of the doorway, and met the receptionist's eyes. The woman smiled nervously. "Can I help you?" she asked, in the highest voice he thought he'd ever heard.

He stepped into the building completely, walking up toward the front desk. Drawing a deep breath, he set his box on the counter. "Hiya. I'm Michael Scott, your new Director of Paper Distribution."

"Oh," she said, nodding, and reached out for a handshake. "Welcome to the building. I'm Louise."

"It's nice to meet you, Louise. Are you from Louisiana?" he asked.

She smiled. "Georgia."

Michael raised his eyebrows, watching as she typed something into her computer. "Really? Wow. You don't have that god-awful accent, though, so…"

"Hey." She lifted a cautioning finger. "My mom does. Watch your mouth."

He blinked widely, and chuckled. "Right. My mouth shall be watched."

"Michael Scott is here," she then said, out of nowhere. He opened his mouth to respond until he realized she was talking into her headset. "Yes, he's- yes, he _is_. I don't _know_ when he was supposed to be here, Zach. Who gives a shit?"

Michael swallowed.

"Okay, okay," she squeaked. "Would you quit being so anal for a second? He's here _now_. I'm not just gonna- oh, my _god_ ," she groaned, covering the microphone with her hand. Looking up at Michael, she added under her breath, "Just take the elevator up to the ninth."

"Okay," he whispered. He picked up his box and followed her gesture to the right corner of the lobby.

"Yes, I'm _sure_ it was him..."

Her irritated whispers faded out of hearing range as Michael walked around the turn to find the elevator. Hands full, he bumped the button with his hip, sassily; and there was a small moment of peace before the left elevator opened, empty inside. Michael stepped inside.

"Ninth floor," he muttered as he looked over the buttons, and found the number. The doors began to close.

But a hand jammed between the doors, and Michael jumped.

Into the elevator burst a short woman, with short hair, and a gigantic purse, and a paper bag, and a crazy determination. She muttered to herself many expletives as she spun around and jammed a button — the number seventeen. When the doors didn't shut, she pressed it a few more times. "Oh, for the love of…"

Michael stood with his back pressed against the wall, just avoiding her swinging purse as it made for his cardboard box. The woman continued to mumble, apparently not realizing that he was there — or not caring. He cleared his throat.

The woman glanced over her shoulder at him, through her large-rimmed glasses, and her eyebrows shot up. "Late getting back from lunch," she said, panting. "They ran out of my panini so I had to order a salad, but the geniuses at the counter thought I wanted a salad _with_ something, and tried to shovel fresh-baked cookies down my throat, and _succeeded_ , so now I'm bloated from all the sugar. They were chocolate duet, for fuck's sake. How the hell do you say 'no' to chocolate duet cookies?"

Eyes wide from all the words that had just come at him, Michael stuttered, "I don't know. I've never tried."

The elevator stopped, as though they were at the right floor — but started up again shortly. There was a brief silence.

"What're you doing on the seventh floor?" she asked, side-eying him. "Are you Oswald's boyfriend?"

Michael furrowed his brow. "Ah, no. No, I'm straight, actually. And engaged," he said, holding up his left hand — but he quickly realized that _he_ didn't have the ring, so he put it down again..

"Congrats," she said, though she seemed amused. "That's just a joke. Oswald won't tell us who his boyfriend is, so whenever someone we don't know comes in, we ask him, 'Hey, are you Oswald's boyfriend?' It's just a thing."

"Oh," he said, and chuckled.

"So who are you?" she asked. "Legit question this time."

The elevator stopped, but the doors did not open, oddly. Michael met her eyes as he answered, "Michael Scott, new hire for the Director of Paper Distribution. My office is on the ninth floor."

"Right," she said, nodding. "You're getting Joe's old office. It's a nice one — very spacious."

"Well, I am a very spacey man, so that's fine by me," he decided.

The doors opened, with a ding, and the woman immediately stepped out, while Michael followed. She looked back and added, "You're gonna be my office neighbor, I guess, so do me a favor and don't turn out to be a total dick...?"

Michael wasn't sure how to respond to that, but nodded quickly. "Absolutely, sure. I will channel my non-dickiness."

"Great. Zach!"

He raised his eyebrows, and followed her around the corner to find her rushing up to the desk on the right — and there sat a tall, blonde, good-looking receptionist with a stern look on his face. _Zach,_ Michael noted.

"Heather, I'm not covering for you again. You're _late_."

Michael edged up toward the desk, as the elevator closed behind him, silent so as not to interrupt. He looked around the room — light, with lots of windows to let the light in, but dark-wood floors which made his shoes look pretty good, although he could hear Zach's chair rolling on the floor quite clearly.

Heather fake-grinned at the receptionist as she announced, "That's fine. I don't need anybody to cover for me - I have an excuse this time."

Zach raised his eyebrows, leaning on his elbow. "Oh, yeah? A _good_ one?"

" _Yes_ ," she mocked his tone, and opened her salad container. "I had to help a lost little kid get to his mother."

"At Panera?"

"Yes, at Panera," she shot back. She rolled a cherry tomato out of her salad and onto his desk, dropping behind his computer. This seemed to upset him. "He was cute — his name was Jamie, and he likes bears. Anyway, did Liz duck out again? Michael Scott's here." She threw a thumb back in Michael's direction.

"I know," Zach said, glancing over Heather's shoulder at Michael, who stood awkwardly a few feet away. Then he muttered something inaudible to Heather, until she closed her salad and stepped back from the counter.

Taking that as his cue, Michael approached the desk with an awkward smile. "Hiya," he said, this time keeping his box in his hands. He glanced around the room again, and asked quietly, "Was I… was I not supposed to come in today? George from hiring told me I was, so… But I can leave, if something's going on."

Zach just sent him an ugly look — seriously, obviously upset about something Michael had said or done — and rolled his chair back. "I'll show you to your office." He shoved up to his feet, clicking something on his computer before he stepped around the counter.

Without another word spoken, Michael was left to blindly follow Zach down the hall.

The hallway was long, and most of the office doors were closed. But around the turn, toward what looked to be the break room, a few doors were opened to the public — and Zach started veering toward what Michael guessed would be his office.

"Here," Zach said, knocking on one of the open doors. "This is your office, so…"

Michael nodded politely. "Ah-thank ya."

Zach looked at him blankly. "Yeah," he mumbled, and turned around. He marched down the hall without another word, until Michael could no longer see him as he rounded the turn. That effectively left Michael to his own devices.

It also left him to investigate his new office, so he took a peek inside.

And it was not bad. The floors were shiny, and there was a big window with a nice view of the city, and the desk was big — bigger than his desk in Scranton. And it had a big rolling desk chair, black leather-looking stuff. And on the walls, there were these pictures of really cool trees, all twisted up around each other, against the green wallpaper. And the desk had a big computer screen on it, and a mousepad, and a phone, and nothing else.

Michael inhaled sharply, taking a look around the room that was certainly more "specious" than he'd expected. He walked over to the desk and set his cardboard box down, with all his desktop knick-knacks and pictures and empty picture frames (for when he had children) and everything else inside. He set it all down, and looked out the window, for just a second.

 _So this is gonna be my view,_ he assessed, looking over the street. _Ninth floor — practically the penthouse._

He smiled to himself, fingers tapping on the desk.

 _This is gonna be good._

* * *

 ** _Happy late Thanksgiving, everyone._**


	21. But I'm Reflecting Light

**Chapter XXI**

 **But I'm Reflecting Light**

* * *

 _Now that I've worn out, I've worn out the world,_

 _I'm on my knees in fascination, looking through the night…_

 _And the moon's never seen me before…_

 _But I'm reflecting light._

\- "Reflecting Light" by Sam Phillips.

* * *

This wasn't a bad way to end the day, truthfully. It was weird, but not bad.

Today marked Michael's third day at his new job. And to their surprise, Mom had planned an entire celebration, including but not limited to: pot roast, red velvet cake, champagne, _Cranium_ , _Finding Nemo_ , and what was going to be Pictionary — until Dad fell asleep during the movie, and wound up going up to bed. All in all, it had been a fun evening.

But midnight had come and gone, and the fire was dying, and the last drops of champagne had long since been consumed by her mother — who was now in a state of, in her own words, "advanced-tipsy" — in other words, plastered. And it was quite amusing.

" _Fish_ ," Mom announced then, dropping her empty glass on the coffee table loudly. Holly's head jolted up from Michael's chest, to look at her mother seated across from the couch. No end came to this sentence.

Holly smiled, wrinkling her eyebrows. "Fish, what?"

Mom's eyes were shut as she leaned back in her seat, and she yawned. "Fish can not… they can't even survive being flushed down a _toilet_. That's stupid. That's factually incorrect."

Michael's laughter rumbled under her back — as, in a strange turn of events, they'd found themselves cuddled up on the couch together, half-upright, legs tangled at the other end of the couch. His arms were wrapped snugly around her stomach, his chin resting in her shoulder. And it was odd, because he usually wasn't so physically affectionate in front of her parents.

"'n you know what else?"

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Mom was delirious.

"Sea turtles," Mom went on, shaking her head. "They do _not_ travel in groups. Take a _biology course_ , people."

Holly chuckled. "It's a kid's movie, Mom. It doesn't have to be completely accurate."

"Well, I'd like it to be. Because you know, the movies that are made for kids — who has to watch it with them, a thousand times a day? The _parents_." Mom then yawned again, and looked around the room, brow furrowed. "Where's th'champagne?"

"You finished it," Holly said with a grin. Michael huffed a little laugh, tickling warm air on her neck. She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"Oh," Mom said in obvious disappointment. "Damn. I must be so _drunk_."

"You are," Michael said between chuckles. Holly locked eyes with him, and he started cracking up. "You _really_ are…"

Holly burst into laughter, all at once, and so did Michael, whose chuckles bounced her a little bit, and she gripped his hand for balance. Mom, meanwhile, was dying of laughter in the corner, face turning pink already. Just when Holly thought it was coming to an end, she started up again, and doubled half-over in giggles.

Maybe they were a little drunk, too.

Eventually, the noise died down, and the three of them settled back into their seats. Mom's giggles finally stopped when she opened her eyes again, to look at the clock. Then she smiled, and sat up a bit. "It's late. I should go to bed."

"Thank you for the evening, Annie," Michael said before she could get up, still smiling. "It was fun."

Mom raised her finger to reply, but yawned again. "Don't… don't call me Annie, Scott."

Holly grinned, side-eying Michael, and shook her head. "Mom, do you need help getting upstairs?"

"I've been drunk before, Holly!" she protested as she rounded the chairs and stepped into the hallway, out of view. "How d'you think you were conceived?"

She winced, squeezing her eyes shut. "Mom…"

Michael just laughed into her neck, the only noise filling the air as her mother ascended the stairs, and, eventually, shut her bedroom door behind her. Holly listened closely to her steps overhead, just in case, until Mom had audibly landed on the bed with a squeak.

"She's gonna be fun tomorrow," Holly remarked, and rested her head on the arm of the couch. "Wow…"

"Wow," Michael echoed, lying back, snuggling up closer to her. "Your mom's way more entertaining when she's drunk. Did you get any champagne at all?"

She giggled. "Maybe a glass. Enough to find this amusing and not horrifically embarrassing. But that'll come in the morning, I'm sure."

Michael hummed, his lips landing on her neck and leaving a small kiss there. "Shore you are," he whispered, voice a low rumble. She knew that voice — it sounded like his sleepy voice, but it was definitely different. It usually meant the opposite of sleep, actually.

She turned further into his embrace and wiggled up higher, to look him directly in the eyes instead of looking up. She sighed contentedly. "I'm glad you had a good time. Not as good a time as my _mom_ , but…"

He nodded and rested his forehead against hers. "Yeah! And you know what I think? I think… I'm starting to fit in, you know?" he asked in a whisper, as his hand settled on her hip. "With your family. And don't say you told me so, because I already know you did, but… I was scared it wasn't gonna happen."

"I told you so," she said anyway, and grinned wickedly. Michael chuckled.

"You told me so," he said. Meanwhile, his hand glided down her side, along her thigh, hooking under her knee lightly before coming to a stop. The action was strongly intentional, and she could see it in his eyes.

Holly cleared her throat and mumbled, "Was it just me, though, or was your celebration so much-"

"Better than yours?"

"-mine?" she finished, and her eyes widened. "Yes!"

"I know!" he exclaimed. "I thought it was weird at first, but I figured, you know, they've been throwing parties for you all your life. Maybe they're running out of ideas."

"I think my parents like you better than they like me," she said, matter-of-factly.

"No, they don't…"

"I think they do."

"Do you think?" Michael asked with a bit of excitement — but then he shook his head. "No, no, they don't. And if they do, I don't- I think, that it wouldn't be so bad, because they're kinda stuck with you anyway."

Holly raised her eyebrows. "Hey…"

"Not that that's a bad thing," Michael amended, and brushed a kiss onto her lips. "I'm stuck with you, too, and you're stuck with me. Forevah and evah."

"Oh," she said, and held up her ring finger. "Is that what this means?"

He nodded widely. "Yes, it is, yes."

"Well, now it all makes sense."

"Exactly, yes," he continued, "and that makes me so, so happy, because I love you so much. And your parents do, too, so... if they threw a better party for me, it's because you're not part of our club."

Holly bit down on her lip, trying to keep the blush from flooding her face, in vain. He always knew what to say to have her skin turning red, and combined with the look he was giving her, which was one of complete and unabashed desire, she was close to melting.

It helped that they hadn't had sex in almost a week.

It wasn't accidental, thanks to the time of the month, but even if the week were different, she wasn't sure they'd have done anything. As much as his work had excited him, her work had been a major drag. She'd gotten reprimanded twice for trying to recognize time theft, in front of her coworkers. She'd met her new boss, Bill, who absolutely hated her and wasn't shy about it. And she'd received a new nickname, which she hadn't even tried to report…

She'd always wanted to be one of those people who could let insults roll off her back, but she just wasn't. Words hurt her; they always had and they probably always would. But this was getting personal. Not only did she feel embarrassed every time she went in to work, but even at home, when she was alone with Michael.

And it made her hesitant.

So she squeezed his shoulder and sat up straight, sighing. "I'm gonna clean up some of this," she decided. The room was littered with champagne glasses, game pieces, and dessert plates, so she didn't have to reach far to find something to put away. "I'll be right back…"

"Hey," Michael said, and she looked back to find his eyes still locked on hers. His hand rested on her leg, thumbs brushing over her pants lightly — and he raised his eyebrows. "Honey, um… Well, uh, are you…?"

Holly didn't reply at first, because she already knew what he was asking.

So he averted his eyes, and began to struggle. "Uh, are you, um… You know. Are the dandelions in… season…"

"Michael," she stopped him with a smile. She didn't want to disappoint him, but she just didn't feel up to it. "Yes, I am, but…"

Before she could finish the thought, Michael's hand moved down to her hip and sat on the curve there, squeezing appreciatively as he inched closer. Her stomach did a flip at the feeling — having gone a week without his hands on her, she wasn't in the strongest resolution to stop him — but she swallowed, trying to think of a way to change the subject...

He was nearer now, though he moved slowly while he waited for the end of her sentence. Her lips parted slightly in anticipation, her hands fidgeting at his chest; she wanted to stop him, but she really, _really_ didn't. The lazy warmth of the room and the look in his eye were both so strong against her willpower that she couldn't stop herself from leaning into his gravity.

"Do you feel like staying up a bit longer?" Michael muttered just as he was getting to her lips, and now only an inch away, so that his breath was warm on her lips. His eyes were half-shut already, and hers were blinking rapidly, as she tried to think of words. She swallowed hard.

She opened her mouth to reply, and wound up kissing him.

Her lips landed hard on his, as unexpected to her as it was to him, open-mouthed and warm and a little desperate from days of wanting. He instantly reacted, of course, with one hand pulling her hips to his and the other going for her hair. She kissed him again, and sighed when she finally felt his tongue in her mouth. Her leg wrapped around his, reeling him in.

Not even when they'd been states apart had she wanted him so badly.

She felt a little delirious as he reached over her other side and moved over top of her, while he kissed her back into the cushions of the couch. She smiled, and bit lightly on his lip. The groan that came out of him filled her body with anxious energy, until her hands were literally yanking him down on her by the shirt. His forehead pressed into hers, his breaths becoming shallow and fast…

Then he left her lips, taking all of her air with him, diving instead into the side of her neck and down past her ear. His mouth assaulted her skin, kissing affectionately at first, until her hands ventured lower from his back; and his lips buried deeper into her neck, sucking hard in a way that would surely leave marks. She groaned, neck arching into his ministrations…

"Michael," she muttered as she felt his body reacting to hers. He didn't respond, trailing wet kisses down her neck… Her eyes closed again with a labored sigh, and her legs tensed around his waist, grinding her hips into his. Her hands wandered up into his hair, pushing his lips harder onto her collarbone…

She had to try again, before she lost all her wits. She swallowed. "M-Michael…"

He hummed his recognition into her skin, while his hand worked in advance at the buttons of her blouse…

"We have to go up," she tried to insist, short of breath. "We can't do it on their couch."

Michael retreated, and she opened her eyes to look down at him. Her heart pounded as she locked eyes with him, her eyebrows brought together in impatience. She bit hard on her lip.

Through panting breaths, he mumbled, "How about the floor?"

And that was the moment.

Something in the way he'd said those words, in the look on his face as he pressed his reddening lips together, in his eyes as they raked over her body, the undone buttons of her blouse, the pink skin on her neck, filled her with this overwhelming sense of love and acceptance. It was visible in his every move that he _wanted_ her, just as much as she wanted him…

She'd been in plenty of failed relationships, almost all in which the man told her he loved her, and she believed him, and she was wrong. But she'd never been able to see love in someone the way she could see it in Michael's eyes right now…

And she felt so at home, all at once — loved and wanted, and _invincible_ , in that moment — as though anyone in the world could say anything to her at all and it wouldn't matter, because the most handsome, most wonderful man in the world _wanted_ her. The man she loved really, really loved her.

"C'mon," she breathed, a large smile coming over her face. "I'm not _that_ drunk."

She leaned in for another kiss.

* * *

 _ ***cringes and hits Publish***_


	22. My Life is Like a Bowl of Cherries

**Chapter XXII**

 **My Life is Like a Bowl of Cherries**

* * *

 _My life is like a bowl of cherries,_

 _Not so very ordinary,_

 _Overflowing with love…_

\- "Up Periscope" by Drake Bell.

* * *

Michael was exhausted and he didn't even care.

He was on a high as he walked into work that Friday, only on his feet by the grace of God and two cups of coffee since he'd rolled off four hours of sleep this morning. With the morning traffic and the amount of times he'd nearly fallen asleep on his feet, he could already tell it would be a long day — and he didn't even _care._

He was in love.

When he'd woken up that morning, a beautiful woman had been in his arms — her cold nose buried into his shoulder and arms wrapped around his bare body, legs tangled in his under the sheets. He'd barely been able to tear himself away from her, taking a good few minutes to just exist in that moment.

"Hold the door!"

Michael didn't even have to hear the words to know by now. He pressed the button, keeping the doors open until around the corner, Heather appeared.

"Thanks," she breathed while hopping on one foot, the other still wiggling into her shoes. She hobbled into the corner of the elevator and sat down on the floor. The doors shut behind her.

He tried to control the stupid grin on his face as he nodded at her. "Good morning, Ms. Heather. How are you doing today?"

"Hell," she answered before he'd gotten the question out — but he was so tired that it made sense. She sighed. "I didn't get any _sleep_ last night. My kid had a big project and he turns it in today, and he didn't think to start working on it until last night."

"Uh-oh."

"Yeah," she mumbled, looking up at him briefly. "He really needs to pull his grades up if he's gonna pass this class, so I broke the rules and helped him a little bit. Don't tell the PTA."

Michael smiled and shook his head. "I will not."

She then pulled a tiny mirror out of her purse and started at her cheeks with a brush. Meeting his eyes, she muttered, "Somebody got laid."

His eyebrows shot up, eyes widening. "What?"

"You look exhausted and you're smiling like an idiot," Heather said bluntly. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Michael tried to dampen his smile, but it just wouldn't go away. His mouth actually hurt from smiling so much. "I wouldn't kiss and tell," he said, and pressed his lips together. He looked at the wall with intense focus as he added, "I can neither confirm nor deny whether or not I had sex with my fiancee all night. That would be _crass_ of me."

When he looked back at Heather, she was grinning devilishly at him. "You _dog._ "

Michael shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a passionate man."

"How many times?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

"Nah, that- that's unprofessional. I can't say that," he protested.

"Come on, ya prude."

"I can't. I can't do it," he said.

But behind his back, he may have held up three fingers, purely coincidentally.

Heather shut her purse and rose to her feet with a sigh, head shaking. "I hate you," she muttered though she wore an expression of amusement. She ran one hand through her short-short hair before putting her glasses back on. "Not all of us can get laid whenever we want, you know!"

The elevator opened, and they both stepped out into the lobby. Michael shrugged again. "Well, it's not all butterflies and unicorns. We're still staying with her parents, so… Not all the freedom in the world."

She mock-scowled at him. "First-world problems, Michael." As they reached the receptionist's desk, Heather glanced over and added more loudly, "Think about the virgins. Some people have yet to know the touch of a woman."

Zach Wyatt was a stone as she stopped at his desk, not looking up from his computer. "I'm not a virgin, Heather. Stop telling people that."

Heather leaned over the edge of the counter, so that her necklace hung over his computer screen. "Make me," she enunciated.

He sent her a dirty look. "I can report you for sexual harassment."

She sent him a different kind of dirty look. "Or you could _not_ do that, and I might just be willing to be your first."

"I would never in a million years have sex with you, Heather."

"How about a million and one years?"

"Nope."

"A million and two?"

"No, I wouldn't."

She then hummed, pretending to consider this. "A million and three. Come on. Pretty please?"

Zach slammed his mouse onto the desk. "Are you _trying_ to waste my time?"

"Mmmyes."

His expression was one of disgust as he flicked her necklace away from his screen. "Go do your work."

Heather chuckled, and saluted him. "Sure thing, boss." She stepped away from the desk, but not without looking back at Michael, and sending him a raised eyebrow as she added quietly, "It's all that sexual frustration."

At that, Zach tossed his pen across the desk and held his head between his hands with obvious tension. That seemed to satisfy Heather enough to leave.

Michael then waited the appropriate few seconds before approaching the desk, mumbling, "Is there anything for me?"

Zach's head whipped up, with a different kind of look on his face — where to Heather he looked annoyed and embarrassed, he looked to Michael more resentful and stressed — and he sighed. "Your assistant's here for her first day."

"Okay, th- wait," Michael caught himself. He glanced down the hall. "My assistant? I have an assistant?"

"Look, I'm a little busy here."

He blinked. "O-kay… Someone's grumps. You wanna taco 'bout it?"

Zach froze at that, shoulders straightening. His expression was completely professional as he muttered, "Fuck off."

Michael's eyebrows shot up, shocked by this declaration — and although a little offended, way more amused than anything else. He tried to hide his smile and stifle his chuckle as he turned to leave. But not before whispering, "Well, you caught me in a good mood today, Zacchaeus, so I'm gonna let that one slide."

"Zachary."

He shrugged, and continued down the hall toward his office.

He hadn't asked for an assistant. No one had told him he could even _have_ an assistant in his position. In fact, out of every conversation that he'd had with many people, he'd learned very little about this job — all he had done this week was wade through paperwork and sign permissions, meet office-mates, and annoy the heck out of Zach. And now he had an assistant to do some of these things for him?

His office door was open, and he slowed down, to take a peek inside.

There stood at the desk a woman, whose hands absently crumpled up a couple of straw wrappers while she stared out the window, so that he could not see her face but only the back of her head. Her hair was long and wavy, and she was fairly tall though she wore flats, rocking the long black skirt. She moved slowly, cleaning up some of the mess on his desk without being asked.

Michael cleared his throat before entering, so as not to surprise her. "Excuse me?"

She looked over at the door, and he found she looked different than he'd expected — no makeup, as far as he could tell, but a lovely face — younger than Zach, definitely. She swallowed, and glanced at the wall beside him when she spoke to him. "Hi. Are you Mr. Scott?"

He nodded, stepping a little closer to offer a handshake. "Call me Michael."

She shook his hand quickly. "Hi," she said again. When Michael glanced at his desk, she added, "I'm not snooping or anything — I just got here a little early and I figured I'd… clean something, or something."

Michael shrugged. "Sure! Yeah, thank you, for cleaning. I'm a little messy."

"Good," she said, nodding. A second later, her expression changed as she visibly realized what she'd said, but she didn't amend the statement. She just looked at the door behind him.

"So what's y-"

"Should I get th-"

"Oh," Michael stopped himself. "Sorry. You first."

She rolled her shoulder in obvious discomfort and brushed her hair out of her face. "Should I get the door?"

Michael raised his eyebrows, turning back to look at the door — which he had left open. "Oh, I can… I mean, if you want to. Sure. Please."

She nodded down to the floor as she stepped around him. He stepped up to his desk, listening as the door shut softly behind him.

He felt a little awkward, sitting down at his desk with someone else in the room. Fifty percent of his day was spent doing next to nothing, while the other half was paperwork and meandering and texting Holly, and none of that really required an assistant to sit in his office and wait for instruction. Plus he felt a little weird, having an assistant in the first place. What kind of things would he ask her to do? Was it anything at all like having a butler?

"So what's your name?" he asked out of the blue, as she walked slowly back into the room. She looked around the office in a studious way, not ever really making eye contact.

"Ginny Roberts," she replied. "Sorry. I should have said that earlier."

Michael shook his head. "No problem. Um…"

"Can I sit down?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, and gestured toward the chair beside her. "Have a seat. Make yourself at home."

She sat down with a small smile, crossing her arms. "Thanks."

Michael nodded. "So how old are you, Ginny?"

Ginny looked up and mumbled, "Twenty."

"Oh. Wow," he remarked. Absentmindedly he turned on his computer, getting it started just in case the conversation fizzled. "Are you a student?"

"Yeah — well, going to be, starting this summer."

"Really? What's your major going to be, do you think?"

Ginny shrugged her shoulders, looking down at her hands. "I don't know. I can't really decide what I want to do."

That interested Michael instantly, because that was something he could discuss — and his computer was taking a long time to update, _which he hadn't asked it to do_ — he really wasn't used to having new technology at work. He cleared his throat. "Well, what are your hobbies? Is there anything you do on the side, that maybe you could pursue?"

She shrugged again. "I don't know if it's anything I could make into a career."

He raised his eyebrows at his computer screen. "Probably can, more than you think. What do you like? Art?"

At that, Ginny chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. "Definitely not. I can't draw or anything… but um…" Her voice trailed off as she glanced out the window. "Um, do you have a toaster?"

Michael was halfway through his password when he stopped typing to look at her, blinking. "I…" he tried, not sure of how to answer that. "Not, not with me, no. I could probably get one from the break room if-"

"No," she cut him off gently. "I mean at home, do you have, you know-"

"Oh, yeah!" He leaned back in his chair and turned toward her, nodding. "Yeah, I do own a toaster. Wouldn't be able to live without it. I gots to have my Eggo waffles."

Ginny smiled slightly. "Well, I can make them, from scratch."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Eggo waffles?"

"Toasters," she said instead, and bit her lip.

His eyebrows probably got higher; he opened his mouth, a smile in his eyes as he leaned forward a bit. "You can make a _toaster_?"

"Yeah…"

"Wow!" he said. "That's so cool."

She pursed her lips. "Well, I don't know what career that leads to, but I'm good at… making things. A few things, anyway. I'm working on figuring out a few things right now, um… Digital alarm clocks."

"That's amazing," Michael said, shaking his head in disbelief. "How do- where do you get the parts? Do you buy them, or… find them, like at a dump?"

His phone suddenly rang, interrupting the conversation and drawing her attention away. Michael reached to answer it — but he stopped himself.

Ginny glanced between the phone and Michael, waiting for a second as it rang a couple more times, until she had to ask, "Are you- am I supposed to-"

"No," he said, waving a hand at her as he crossed his arms. "I just like to make Zach wait a little bit. Keeps him humble."

She blinked. "Okay… Is that really-"

"So tell me more about the toasters."

* * *

 _ **So one breakdown and a therapy session later, and I've been diagnosed with ADHD. That's something at least. Anyway enjoy.**_


	23. I've Missed You

**Chapter XXIII**

 **I've Missed You**

* * *

 _The way your hand feels around my waist…_

 _The way you laugh, the way your kisses taste…_

 _I've missed you._

\- "To Whom It May Concern" by The Civil Wars.

* * *

As soon as five o'clock hit, he was out — "out" translating to half-asleep, nearly dead, and ready to go home and take a long, deep nap in someplace warm.

He'd had a good day, despite his utter lack of sleep and the pain in the ass Zach had been. He'd met his new assistant, Ginny, who had distracted him from mountains of paperwork between running downstairs to get him coffee — enough to sedate a horse, probably, if a horse could actually drink coffee in any efficient manner without burning his tongue. But Michael was far from sedated. He was _wired_ , and it sped him through hours of signing and reading and signing and reading…

But then came five o'clock, as the sky was dimming outside the window behind him, and the clock struck, and he finally looked up from his computer to see the coffee cups littering the room and the assistant that had disappeared from his office, and the red imprint on his knuckles from holding his head up all day. That was when he'd decided to hightail it out of there.

Fortunately they'd had both of the cars today, so Michael didn't have to rush to pick Holly up on his way back — but he still rushed, excited to see her back home. He hadn't spoken to her at all today, except for a few sleepy mumbles before he'd gotten out of bed that morning, and he missed her already. Also, he couldn't stop thinking about last night, and if he weren't so completely bushed, he'd put those thoughts to good use when he got back to her this evening. But all he could dream to do was sleep…

To keep him sharp, he'd turned on the radio, too. And Adele had hit him with "Rolling in the Deep," which kept him occupied for the twenty minutes that it was on different radio stations, non-stop. The trip actually flew by between the same chorus, over and over and over again…

" _You had my heart in_ _ **siiiiideeee**_ _of your hands…"_

Eventually, he found his way to the familiar street with the familiar houses, and drove down, slowing a bit. He sighed, which turned into a yawn, and his head fell back against the seat. " _And you played it,"_ he mumbled in a high-pitched voice. " _To the be-e-e-e-e-e-eat…"_

Michael soon found the house, and turned into the driveway with victory, having stayed awake the entire drive successfully. He was hesitant to turn the car off once he was parked — to step out into the cold and away from the warmth of the car — but he took a deep breath and went for it anyway. He hopped out of the car, into the brisk, and hurried up the cobblestone footpath.

He loved that path, because when he walked up to the house, with coat in hand and briefcase swinging, in true businessman fashion, knowing that there was a family of sorts waiting inside, he felt like a true family man.

It helped that Mrs. Flax no longer required him to knock.

Inside, the living room was dim, the only light coming from the kitchen doorway across the room. Michael shivered against the warm air of the house and let out a long, silent yawn, setting his briefcase on the coffee table with a thud. His ears rang, almost blocking out the audible conversation carrying on in the kitchen — he could hear someone talking quietly, almost whispering. Curious, he walked over to peek inside.

"Oh, that's even better."

"Do you think?" came Holly's voice, sounding excited. "Both the bedrooms look big, so if we needed to stay for a few years, it could probably work for two kids."

Michael's eyebrows raised and he stepped closer, to see Holly and Annie talking in the kitchen, Holly's back to the door where she sat at the counter, and Annie already indulging in the rest of last night's wine — so she probably didn't notice Michael in the distance. "Someone's eager."

He didn't have to see Holly's face to know it was turning pink. "Maybe," she admitted softly.

Michael felt his whole heart lift in his chest, and a smile spread over his face. She was adorable. He was gonna make a thousand little babies with her.

"Kitchen's nice."

"Mhm. Lots of space."

"Gas stove — hell, yeah. You guys need to snap that up _quick_."

He felt more comfortable stepping into the conversation now, so he entered the kitchen, instantly catching Annie's attention. He cleared his throat. "Hola, chicas. Como estas?"

"Come look at this apartment, Michael."

Holly smiled at her mother, and turned around to face Michael. Her expression was warm when she met his eyes, her grin widening — she extended her arms toward him. "Hola, senor. Como here."

He was glad to comply, crossing the room with his own arms out. As soon as he was in reach, Holly's arms wiggled around his neck and reined him into her embrace. Michael smiled, and squeezed her tighter as he pressed his lips to hers, and sighed.

After a moment, Annie's voice interrupted them. "Oh, my _god_. Have you seen this tub?"

Holly slowly inched out of the kiss, and smiled. "Yes, I have, Mom."

"A horse could bathe in this!"

"That's not the plan," she said, brushing one more kiss to Michael's lips as she hugged him tighter. To him, she added, "Colin at work is renting out a place, so I was showing Mom. I think you'll like it."

"Okie-doke," Michael mumbled. His hands slipped under the edge of her shirt, marveling at the warmth of her skin. He looked directly into her eyes as he added, "You look _sooo_ sleepy."

"Sooo do you," she replied. "I was gonna go upstairs and take a nap, if you wanna join me…"

"Sounds bueno to mio."

"I like this patio," Annie said loudly, seeming to be ignoring their intimate moment just feet away. "And it's dog friendly, so if you want a dog."

Holly chuckled, pulling back to turn toward her mother. "I'll show it to him later. We're gonna head up and take a nap."

Annie raised an eyebrow as she handed Holly's phone back. "Mhm."

"We _are_ ," Holly reassured her, though her fingers played lightly at the base of Michael's neck in a less than platonic manner.

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Well…"

"We are," she repeated. Her eyes sent him a playful look, but her voice was serious. Her free hand then lightly pressed on his lower back, guiding him toward the door. "Vamonos."

He gladly followed her out of the kitchen.

They headed toward the stairs, and for the first time all day, Michael let himself relax, leaning over on her shoulder as they walked. His head rested on hers as he looked down to watch their shoes land on the wood — crossing over the spot where they'd bow-chicka-bow-wowed but neither of them saying anything about it. His eyes ran up her legs, to her skirt, and he made a mental note to kiss them all over once they got into bed.

Once they were up, they headed down the hallway, and Michael opened the door for her, into the dimming bedroom. Even the room was sleepy as the sun was setting through the curtains, the morning's clothes and alike scattered about, the sheets hanging over the side of the bed in invitation. He yawned at the mere thought of burying himself in blankets and sleeping…

"How was your day?" Holly asked as she regrettably slipped out of his arms to shut the door behind him. Instantly, Michael began to undress.

"Good," he said, shaking off his jacket and allowing it to drop to the floor. He turned to face the mirror as he then went for his tie. "I got an assistant."

Before he could get the tie off, Holly stepped back into his arms and finished for him. "That's exciting," she mumbled while sleepily looking down at his chest. "Are they nice?"

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. His hands inched down from her sides and into her skirt, untucking her blouse. "She has this really cool talent, too. She knows how to make _toasters_."

Holly's eyebrows shot up. "Toasters?"

"Yeah!" he enthused softly. "She can make all kinds of stuff from random parts she finds. In _fact_ , she's learning how to make alarm clocks right now, and she's willing to custom-make us one for free, if we want. Isn't that cool?"

"That's very cool," she agreed as she unbuttoned his shirt. "I'm glad you're making friends."

Michael shrugged. "Well…"

His voice trailed off while his hands inched her blouse up her back, fingers walking up to her bra strap and slipping underneath mindlessly. Holly worked at the last of his buttons until she slid the shirt off altogether.

"How was _your_ day?" he then asked, and removed his undershirt himself. Holly stepped out of his arms enough to change, with a yawn.

"It was okay," she said, shrugging. "I was actually invited to a meeting. Talked with Colin about his move during lunch. Oh! And he loves the Simpsons, so I think I'm a few impressions away from a new friend."

Michael raised his eyebrows, and held up his hand. "Score!"

She high-fived him rather cutely with one hand, while the other began to unbutton her blouse at a slow, drowsy pace. He tore his eyes away long enough to step out of the rest of his suit, squeezing them shut so that he could yawn, _again_. Then, feeling sleep drawing nearer in his mind, he backed up to the bed and plopped down on the mattress. He closed his eyes for just a moment…

Then he heard unzipping, and they drifted open just slightly, to sneak a peek at the hot blonde stripping down in front of him — smiling as he watched her slip out of her skirt, leaving her in just the basics with…

 _Holy…_

She had hickeys.

He hadn't been thinking about it until now, as he recalled the events of last night — half-blurry from champagne and late hours, but mostly quite clear — and realized, of course, there was no way he _hadn't_ left a few marks, but _damn._ One hid on her neck, behind her hair, and another large one on her collarbone… and _then_ , down below, three or four on her inner thighs…

Michael swallowed hard, sitting up a little straighter as his eyes wandered, thoughts trailing in directions that were _not_ conducive to naptime — and she was stretching and yawning, her eyes all scrunched up, and her skin all marked up with how much he loved her…

Maybe cuddling wasn't such a good idea.

"Something on my face?" she said, and his eyes returned to her face, which was, even as she was already half-asleep, pinking. She came toward the bed with sleepy steps, smiling at him the longer he stared, and sat down on the edge so that she was very near to him now. When she glanced over her shoulder, pulling the blankets up to her chest, she asked, "What?"

"How tired are you?" he had to ask, as innocently as he could muster.

Holly just smiled as she wiggled under the covers, and up to his side. "Very tired," she whispered. She reached an arm over him and pulled him closer, so that she could do as she always did and bury her little cold nose into his shoulder, and hug him so tightly that he didn't even want to breathe, and, as she always, always did, press a warm, gentle kiss to his bare chest, sending shivers up his back and all over his skin…

Michael sighed, relaxing a bit under her touch, and hugged her back. His hand rubbed up and down her back lightly, her weight familiar in his arms, all cuddled up into him. He smiled when her legs wrapped around his, cold feet sucking the warmth out of his legs in the best way.

"So maybe tonight?" he whispered, expecting a laugh or a similar reaction.

But she had already fallen asleep, breathing breaths into his skin and lying peaceful against his chest.

So Michael closed his eyes.

* * *

 _ **god im the cringiest person on the planet anyway thx for reading and reviewing bye for now**_


	24. Darling, I've Been Here Before

**Chapter XXIV**

 **Darling, I've Been Here Before**

* * *

 _Well darling, I've been here before —_

 _I've seen these rooms, I have walked these floors._

 _You know, I used to live alone before I knew you…_

\- "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen (cover by Brandi Carlile).

* * *

First time on the radio, fifth time on the radio… Michael's high-pitched Lady Gaga imitation was priceless every time.

" _ **I'm on the edge!"**_

But maybe she should have been the one to drive.

" _Of glory!"_ he sang while headbanging his way into the astral realm, eyes barely open enough to see the road, and closed just enough to concern Holly in the passenger seat. At least the road wasn't crowded, so he wasn't truly endangering anyone with his passionate performance. " _And I'm hanging on a moment of truth…"_

" _I'm on the edge!"_

She may have been singing along.

" _Of glory!"_

They rounded the turn onto their destination street, dancing in their seats all the way.

Today had been a "sing-along-to-blasting-radio" kind of day, overall, and for that, Holly was thankful. After all, going into this rainy Saturday morning with an agenda full of apartments to visit and money to discuss, she'd been afraid the entire thing would come out stressful more than anything else. But Michael wouldn't allow that to happen.

He'd woken up in a fantastic mood, and the fact that they'd spent a couple of hours in bed that morning didn't hurt that. During every drive from place to place, and all throughout lunch, he hadn't stopped talking about his "perfect apartment," which seemed a bit good to be true — with a very specific shade of carpet, a nursery large enough to split into two halves for a boy baby and a girl baby, a bedroom adjacent to the nursery so that he could walk in a straight line from bed to baby in order to minimize tripping in the dark, and a nice shower, for… nice showers. But he was trying to keep an open mind, at least.

After visiting three apartments in one day, it seemed that he would need lower standards if they were going to ever move out of her parents' place.

She didn't know why, but she was actually relieved they hadn't found anything yet.

" _I'm on the edge!"_

" _The edge,"_ Holly jumped in, nodding toward Michael, who smiled.

" _The edge!"_

" _The edge!"_

" _ **The edge!"**_

" _The edge!"_

" _ **The edge!**_ Hey, is that it?"

" _I'm on_ \- what?" she stopped as she turned back to him. She glanced over through his window. "Where?"

Michael slipped into the left lane, and turned the radio down before looking to her. "Is that it up there?" he asked. "It looks like the picture."

She followed his gaze to the left side of the road, where through the raindrops on the glass she could see a familiar looking apartment complex. She nodded. "That's it."

At that, Michael put edged toward the turning lane, and flicked his turning signal on. He let out an evil little giggle, fingers wiggling on the wheel. "This is gonna be the one, honey. I can feel it! Can you feel it?"

"I can feel something," Holly said with a chuckle. "But we shouldn't get our hopes up. Colin said the place had a little bit of work to do."

He shook his head, giving her that adorable smile that made her stomach do a little flip, and reached out to take her hand. "I don't care," he admitted, shrugging. "I can't care! I just cannot care. This is it. This is the road we're gonna drive down every day for the rest of our lives."

Holly grinned and squeezed his hand. "The turn we're going to be waiting at, every day, for the rest of our lives."

"Yeah, come on!" Michael exclaimed, honking his horn at the driver ahead. Finally, the car turned out of the way, and left them the lane. "We've got an apartment to buy. _I'm on the edge!_ " he interrupted himself, and began humming with the quietly playing radio, swinging his head back and forth as though he were completely lost in his little world.

Her grin faded a bit at that, and she said nothing in reply, drawing a deep breath instead. He was so excited. He was making _her_ excited, too, and that scared her.

Once he'd found a parking spot, he slowed down to a stop, a bit abruptly. His hand slipped out of hers to put the car into park, and then, to turn it off, the music and heat cutting off all at once to put an end to the fun and distraction of the car ride.

Holly unbuckled while sliding her mildly-aching feet out from under her, back into her shoes on the floor of the car. Thank goodness she'd worn flats for all this walking. She wished she had more pairs; she really liked them better, anyway. But A.J. had preferred for her to look more feminine.

She'd thought about him a lot today.

"Hey."

Holly blinked over at the sound, her mind having been so preoccupied she'd forgotten whether or not he'd been talking to her. "What?" she asked nervously. "Oh. Hi."

Michael leaned over to kiss her, just for a moment, once and then a tiny extra at the very edge of her lips before announcing, "Let's go, hup ho!"

She smiled, opening her door. "Heigh ho, cheerio!"

"Pip, pip, cheerio."

"Pip, pip, da doodly doo," Holly quipped over her shoulder, and exited the car.

In came the cold and the wet of the day, as she stepped out into the slippery parking lot, leaning over her purse to keep it from getting wet. Neither she nor Michael had had the forethought to bring an umbrella, since it hadn't been raining when they left — so she slammed the door shut and broke into a dead sprint toward the building, with Michael shortly behind.

"What number was it?" he called as he jogged up behind her, a magazine above his head.

"Four-thirteen!" she replied. As he got closer, she reached back for his hand, and ran with him toward shelter. The temperature had declined since lunch, and the rain felt like ice coming down overhead, so she took shelter under Michael's magazine until they made it to the awning — then he jumped ahead to pull the door open for her, and she raced inside.

Holly was in full shivers when the door shut behind them, teeth chattering from mere seconds out in the cold. " _God_ , I'm still not used to this cold," she said with a gasp, burying her arms around herself. "I need a bigger coat."

Michael, in his much larger coat, sneaked up beside her and wrapped his arms around her sides, pulling her into his capture and leaning his head over to rest on her shoulder. "I'll be your coat," he decided, and kissed her neck with his cold lips. Holly cringed.

"Michael, you're so cold!" she protested with a smile, as he continued to press little kisses into her neck. She wiggled around in his tight hug until she could reach an arm out to hit the button to buzz Colin's apartment. She flinched when his nose made contact with her skin. " _Michael!_ I'm not kidding!"

"I'm going to suck all the warmth out of your body," Michael said in an alien-like voice while nibbling at her neck. "And then I'm going to _use_ it to build an _army…_ "

Since she couldn't get away from his ice kisses, she decided to fight back, and wiggled her freezing hands under his coat and shirt, pressing them flat against his bare skin. Michael jolted, and instantly pulled away.

"Nuh-uh!" Holly shouted with a wide smile, not letting him get away. " _I'm_ gonna suck out all _your_ body heat and use it to power my evil ray gun, and it will wipe out your army-"

"Never," Michael muttered; and naturally, fought back by shoving his hands under her shirt — except he went one step further and wiggled them down into the back of her pants. That was enough to send her reeling backward.

"Michael _Scott!_ " she gasped, hands flying back to her ass. Michael grinned wickedly. "We're in _public._ "

"What're you gonna do about it?" he asked suggestively. Holly's mouth opened.

They were interrupted by the gate opening, meaning Colin was ready for them to come up. Holly exhaled, still at a loss for words and blushing as she glanced between the gate and a devilish Michael who waited for her to make a move. She slowly inched toward the door.

"You go first," she warned as she came closer, eyes narrowed. She gestured toward the stairs.

Michael shrugged innocently as though he'd never done a thing. "Okay. It's not the gentlemanly thing to do, but okay."

Grinning, she shut the gate behind them and followed him up the first set of stairs.

The stairs weren't as scary as the ones at the last apartment they'd seen — not steep, and not as wet from rainy shoes, either. The handrail was clean, and Holly liked clean handrails. So she looked around for mold or bugs or something else.

"What accent should we do this time?" Michael asked, looking down at her.

Holly raised her eyes, smiling at him. "He already knows I don't have an accent."

He shrugged. "He doesn't know _I_ don't. Quick, hit me."

"I don't know! We've already done British, Australian, Irish, Russian-"

"Quick, hit me!"

"Bulgarian?"

"I-" he started, and paused near the top of the stairs just to look at her; he lowered his voice. "I don't know what a Bulgarian accent sounds like!"

"That's the challenge," Holly said smartly as she came up behind him. Then, passing by him, she gave his rear a pinch and hurried away before he could return the favor. Michael's noise of surprise had her blushing profusely as she walked away…

This weekend had been more fun than most of the past month combined, mainly because Michael had been such a _flirt_. She always loved when he was in a good mood, and that put her in a good mood anyway — but lately, things had just been really, _really good_. She couldn't think of a time A.J. had ever been so affectionate…

She needed to stop thinking about him.

When they found apartment 413, they didn't even need to knock before Colin opened the door for them. He looked oddly casual out of his work clothes, and it looked like he had his daughter with him today.

"Hey, there," Colin greeted her first, smiling. "Happy Saturday."

Holly grinned. "Happy Saturday, yourself. Thanks for letting us drop in."

He shrugged, glancing over her shoulder as Michael approached. "Well, I'm glad you could make it. I've been trying to sell this place for weeks… although I guess I shouldn't say that."

She chuckled. "Yeah, well, don't worry about it. At this point, we're not too picky. We're just trying to get out of my parents' place."

"I feel you there," he agreed. Then to Michael, he added, "You must be Holly's fiance. I'm Colin Moore."

Michael stopped beside Holly and instantly extended his hand. "Well," he replied, in one of the weirdest accents Holly had ever heard — like a cross between Spanish, Russian, and maybe Swedish. "It's nice to meet you, Colin Moore. I'm Colin Most."

It wasn't clear what had thrown Colin more — the accent, or the joke — but he chuckled anyway. "Right. Well, come in, Colin. I'll show you guys around."

"Thank you," Holly said while stifling laughter, sending a secret look Michael's way. He winked at her.

They followed Colin into the main room of the apartment, and Holly looked over the place with a scrutinizing eye, in case there was something wrong with it. The walls were a pretty green, she'd first noticed — and there was wall space which Colin, the bachelor, hadn't used to their potential. None of the furniture was very homey, but the carpet beneath it all was soft, and unstained. The main room was littered with doll clothes and accessories, though Colin's daughter had run off somewhere.

"Sorry, it's a bit of a mess," he said as he stopped in the living room. "Uh, this is the main room. It's large, as you can see — a bit larger than I wanted when I bought the place, but it leaves lots of room for kids to run around between the coffee table and the couch. And this glass door is a bit warped - but the patio is really nice in the summer. There's actually a group of guys in the building over who play a lot of basketball in the evenings, and Wednesday nights, a few people come out to eat dinner on their balconies so they can watch."

"Well, that sounds like fun," Michael said, eyebrows raised as he peeked out through the glass door. "Do they accept new players?"

Colin shrugged. "I've played once or twice. They aren't too serious about it. What… happened to your accent?"

Michael blinked, eyes widening. "Oh. Damn, I forgot. Uh, I was just- I was just messing with you. It was a bit. We were just… I'm American."

Holly lowered her head as she chuckled to herself. Colin just blinked.

"Okay, then. Anyway…"

She smiled and took Michael's hand as they followed Colin out of the living room, over to the kitchen. "Nice," she whispered.

"Thank ya," Michael replied.

They reached the kitchen, where Holly looked over the counters and stove — and instantly, she whispered, "Gas stove."

He saw this too, and clenched his fist in victory. "Yes!" he whispered. "I told you this was it. I _told_ you!"

"We'll see," she reminded him, squeezing his hand. He was getting excited again. "It doesn't have a third bedroom, so you won't have a man-cave."

He shrugged. "I don't need a man-cave. _Spider burners_."

Holly's mouth opened to reply, but she didn't. "I thought you wanted a man-cave. You had it on your list of necessities!"

"I changed my mind," Michael decided. He looked up at Colin. "What's the garbage disposal situation here, Mooreo?"

She was still in disbelief, and tuning out the conversation a bit. Back when they'd been living together in Scranton, Michael had taken such great pride in his man-cave — he still had all this furniture for it, that they would otherwise have to sell. She hadn't lived in a place without a man-cave since before she'd moved in with A.J., and he'd spent nearly all of his time at home in _his_ man-cave. They'd fought about that for hours and hours…

 _Damn it!_ _ **Stop**_ _._

She squeezed his hand a little tighter and tried to shake the thoughts away as they followed Colin toward the hallway.

"Second bathroom," Colin announced. He flicked the light on and stepped back so that they could look inside. "That's a shower-bath. It's not too deep, but it's good for animals and kids. There's a fan for steam — doesn't come on independently from the light…"

"That's good. Colin," Michael addressed him, specifically. "You said you've been trying to sell this place for weeks, right?"

Colin blinked. "Yeah, but it's not because anything's wrong with it! It might be price-"

"No, no, I'm sure it's not. It's your sales pitch."

Holly's eyebrows shot up, and she looked back at the two men. Colin seemed confused. "My… sales pitch?"

Michael waved a hand at him. "Listen, I've never sold a place myself, but I happen to have years of experience in sales, so you can trust me: you're doing it all wrong. Let me help you."

He swallowed. "O-kay…"

Holly bit her lip to keep from smiling as she watched Michael set his hand on Colin's shoulder, and glance around the room. "Now, look around here. You're selling me this bathroom right here, but you're talking it down — you need to talk it up, like it's the greatest bathroom in the world!"

"But it's not."

"But we don't know that," Michael pointed out. "I mean, _now_ we do, but we didn't before that. So just, just look around, and tell me what's great about it. Make me _want_ it."

Colin swallowed, pausing for a moment, but did as he said and looked around. "Well, it's got a recent paint job on the walls. The tiling holds up — the water pressure is pretty good."

"Pretty _great_."

"Pretty great," he said, with a little laugh. "And uh, the towel racks are… sturdy."

Michael patted his shoulder. "There you go, much better. Now sell us the master bedroom."

"Absolutely," Colin said, and turned to leave the bathroom. "We're gonna turn on our right here…"

Holly chuckled as they went, following a bit behind as she took a better look around her, trying to imagine living here. She could see it, pretty easily — waking up and walking barefoot down the hall, making coffee in the kitchen, eating breakfast on barstools while watching TV — watching the sunrise out on the balcony on Saturday mornings…

And that scared the hell out of her. And she didn't know _why_.

"And this over here is the second bedroom. I think Abby's playing in here, so it'll be messy…"

She did want it, more than anything. It sounded perfect, to live alone with Michael and start planning for a future, with the wedding and kids one day and everything the came with that… She deserved to feel happy, but she just couldn't shake the fear — because last time she'd been here, finding that "new home" with someone, it had all gone to hell in record time. The moment she'd moved in with A.J., everything had dissolved into fights and yelling and all his stupid comments, and the worst, _worst_ months of her life…

She didn't know if she could go through it again. She didn't know if she could feel so small again.

"Honey, you've gotta come see this!"

Michael's voice brought her back to the present, and she pushed the anxious thoughts back down deep before replying, "Coming!"

Holly took a deep breath as she headed back down the hall, around the corner toward the second bedroom, toward the open door. Michael saw her as she approached and hurried her over with his hands, a big grin on his face. She entered the room, and saw Colin standing quietly in the corner, fixing something in the closet.

"See what?" Holly asked him, glancing quickly over the room.

"This is gonna be our nursery," Michael said without any semblance of doubt, and took her hands in his to emphasize his point. "Look at it! It's straight down the hall from the master bedroom, so no tripping or turning;" he said, and gestured toward the far corner, "and we can put the crib and the little _bebe_ against the wall right there, and the big kid bed can go over toward the door — that way if the boogie monster comes out to get them, they can come straight to our room and cuddle up with us and we can say, ' _the boogie monster is scared of hallways,'_ and then they won't be scared."

This was a lot of information, and Holly smiled. "You've really thought this through."

"I'm not finished," he said, with the most adorable look on his face as he led her over to the window on the left. "And the rocking chair can go right by the window, so when Baby wakes us up at all hours we can see the sunrise. And the toy box can go inside the closet," he said, turning back to point toward where Colin stood. "And we can get one of those little kiddie rugs with the roads and the buildings to put on the floor, and they can drive their cars over it, right here where we're standing…"

"Okay," she said, laughing, and rested her hands on his shoulders. She blinked the tears out of her eyes as she looked up at him. "It does look perfect."

"So do you want it?" he asked, excitement in his voice.

The question came out of nowhere, when she hadn't expected him to ask this in front of the owner, or even before she'd seen all the rooms — and she knew what she wanted to say, but she also knew that this was sudden and she was scared and these tears were not _all_ tears of joy and… And she didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to say "yes" or "no" to it.

A vibration in her pocket interrupted the question before the silence had become telling, and she was grateful for it. "Hold on," she mumbled. She pulled her phone out.

 _Missed call: Dad (2)._

"Is that your dad?" Michael asked as he read the phone upside-down. "He doesn't usually call."

"I know," she mumbled, immediately swiping to return the last of the three calls she'd missed. She sent Michael a look of humorous horror as she listened to the ringing, and he echoed it — just as confused as she was. It was surprising, with what speed her Dad answered the phone.

" _Holly?"_ her dad said, sounding a bit frustrated. That was unusual.

"Hey, Dad," she said quietly. Her eyes widened at Michael. "I just saw that you'd been calling. Is everything all right?"

" _Did you have band today?"_

Holly opened her mouth to respond, but paused. "What?"

" _Because you should have told me ahead of time. I've been sitting here for twenty minutes."_

"What are you talking about?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "Where are you?"

Her dad made a noise of surprise. " _Where do you think? I'm outside waiting for you. Did you get a ride with someone else?"_

"I don't…" she began, but her voice trailed off. Michael watched her curiously, as her eyes wandered in deep thought…

Her eyes widened in horror.

"Dad, are you at the school?" she asked quickly.

" _Well, I wasn't gonna make you walk home by yourself. Was there a field trip or something? No one's here."_

Holly covered the phone with her hand and looked at Michael seriously. "Dad's at my school and he's alone."

"What?" he whispered. "Oh, my god. Is he okay?"

"I don't know. Can you call Mom?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Dad," she said into the phone. "What school are you at?"

" _Yours."_

"No, Dad- which one?"

" _North,"_ he said simply, the phone shuffling in his hand. " _Why would you even ask that?"_

"Oh, my god," Holly breathed, not even bothering to cover the phone. She pressed her head into her hand, trying to keep calm.

North was twenty miles away from home.

* * *

 _ **So the gas stove thing was (I think) a reference to my brother's obsessive ranting about how awful electric stoves are and how much he wanted a gas stove. Also I fucking hate this story sometimes but I'm gonna keep posting it. Happy December.**_


	25. And I Told You to Be Patient

**Chapter XXV**

 **And I Told You to Be Patient**

* * *

 _And I told you to be patient,_

 _And I told you to be fine,_

 _And I told you to be balanced,_

 _And I told you to be kind._

\- "Skinny Love" by Bon Iver.

* * *

"You're shaking."

He'd actually noticed it long before now, but he'd finally gotten up the nerve to point it out. She'd been sitting that same way for ten minutes now, internally fuming so loudly that he could almost hear it vibrating in her bones, causing her hands to tremble as they clutched at the wheel. He'd never seen her so angry — so much that Holly Flax, Conscientious Driver Esquire, was literally pounding her foot on the gas a half-second before the lights turned green. He'd never felt so much fear.

When she looked down at her hands, her lips parted in realization. She loosened her grip and stretched out her paling fingers with a sigh. "Sorry…"

But she was so quiet about it.

Michael had dated enough women and seen enough anger that he'd thought he'd figured out female anger. It came in a few different sorts, including Jan Anger, which was basically screaming and throwing things and destroying everything in her path; Carol Anger, which was composed of little passive-aggressive remarks and looks of pure disgust; and the rare Helene Anger, which was nonexistent because nothing he did or said would _piss that woman off_. And Holly had never been like any of those things.

She didn't get angry much — frustrated, yes, but not so often _angry_ , per se. But when she'd gotten on the phone with her mom, she'd easily crossed over into rage. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she walked, in the tense of her shoulders and the squeeze of her fists and the tight purse of her lips that almost looked as if she was holding in all her internal screaming. She was swallowing her anger, pressing it down as hard as she could for as long as she could — being as nice as she could, he could tell. And no matter how nice she was about it, Holly Anger was the scariest damn thing he'd ever seen in his life.

He didn't know what to expect from her.

"What're you thinking?" he asked slowly. He gripped the edge of the passenger seat while he waited for an answer. She kept looking straight ahead, watching the rain rolling down the windshield as she drove.

"Nothing," she lied, and it looked like she was chewing on her cheek when she said it.

Michael swallowed, pushing past his burning fear to try again. He leaned forward to look at her face as he asked, "Are you angry?"

"Of course, I'm angry," she said, not really snapping but definitely not happy — agitated, he guessed. "I- I don't- I mean, I just don't know. She… _lost_ him. I don't even know how to…"

The more she tried to talk, the angrier she seemed to become; but he had a feeling that he, as the lover, had to try to calm her down a little before they got home and she had the inevitable fight with her mother. "I'm sure she'll be more careful from now on."

"It was just a _doctor's appointment_ ," she breathed, almost laughing at the fact. She shook her head. "All she had to do was take him there and bring him back. She's done it a thousand times! How did she just _lose_ a grown man at the doctor's office?"

Michael shrugged. "He's a fast walker."

Holly huffed a loud breath. He had a feeling his comment didn't help her.

"And to let him get all the way to the school," Holly continued, voice sounding strained. "He must've walked there, or taken the bus or something. He did it all on his own, with no one there to help him if he… forgot where he was, or…"

"But he's okay now," he reminded her, reaching out to set his hand on hers. When she looked at him, he tried a smile. "That's the good thing."

"But what about tomorrow?" she asked, eyes widening. "I mean, I moved here under the impression that they might need some helping out — not that Mom really wasn't capable of taking care of him! What do I do if that turns out to… Can I even move out? What do I do?"

Her voice was getting to that shaky place that meant she was freaking out a little, and warning sirens went off in Michael's head. He didn't like it when she lost her cool. He wasn't good at being the calm one. When she started to panic, he started to panic — and he was sure as hell starting to panic _now_. What would she do? Would they not be able to get their own place? The apartment had been so perfect and they'd just been talking about kids and for god's sake, Michael couldn't live the rest of his life with Holly's parents — he just couldn't.

"What if he hadn't called my number?"

Michael looked up at her, seeing that as she stared ahead at the road, her eyes looked a little shiny. She blinked rapidly to push the angry tears away. "What if he'd just wandered around and gotten lost? Anything could have happened."

"Hey," he interrupted softly, taking her free hand in his, looking into her eyes. "Nothing happened. He's _okay_."

"I love my dad," she whispered, and blinked away. "I love him, and he's just- he's so trusting, and so kind. Anyone could say anything to him and he'd believe them. What if someone had taken advantage of him?"

She was tearing up. She was tearing up and she was on the edge of crying and he didn't want that to happen because then he would _**panic**_ …

"Honey, look at me," he said, and waited until she looked back at him. Her eyes seemed very trusting in that moment, so he took care to say something smart or sweet and not something offensive or stupid, because he made that mistake way too often. He was a good fiance. He could be the calm one.

So he tucked her hair behind her ear in a very suave move and lowered his voice. "I think the 'what-if' monster is running the wheelhouse up there," he said, raising his eyebrows toward her head. Her anxious expression faded a bit. "We don't know anything about this yet. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she lost him… And if there's not, we'll figure it out from there. The important thing is, he _did_ call you, and he _is_ okay. Right?"

Holly seemed to relax under his touch, and her anxiety started to melt as she nodded, slowly, in agreement. "Right," she whispered. "You're right. I'm getting ahead of myself."

"I am right," he shot back with a grin. "And don't you forget it."

She actually cracked a smile at that, and finally made the turn onto their street, taking a deep breath.

He couldn't believe that had actually worked. He inwardly high-fived himself.

 _Fifteen points to Michael-dor._

But the worst was still yet to come, because here they drove up the road to the house, where Annie's car was already parked out front, empty. The car glided over the hill to the driveway and didn't even stop to turn — that was how eager Holly was. Even when the car came to a halt, Michael hesitated to remove his seatbelt.

He watched as Holly turned off the car and unbuckled and grabbed her purse all in an instant, and threw the door open. The rain was much louder then, but still, umbrellaless, Michael hopped out after her. When he came around the vehicle, they both took off up the sidewalk, hard rain pelting down on their coats.

Fortunately, the door was unlocked, so they burst right into the house all drippy and soppy, safe from the showers. Michael shut the door behind them, sighing loudly into the warmth of the living room. When he looked up, he saw Holly's back, frozen.

Then over her shoulder, he saw the Flaxes, seated neatly on the couch — both a bit drenched and one of them obviously more confused than the other. Michael blinked between them.

"Dad," Holly finally said, sounding horrified as she marched into the room toward her father. She threw her arms around him tightly, squeezing him.

"Holly?"

"Are you okay?" she asked, and pulled back to look at him. "You're soaking wet! Were you out in the rain?"

"He was sitting under an awning," Annie replied.

The room felt ten degrees colder when Holly looked up from her dad, toward her mother. Michael kept a safe distance away, gaze bouncing between Annie's face and the back of Holly's head as they stared at each other.

Eventually, Holly set her hands on Howard's shoulders and whispered, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "It was just a little rain. I can handle a little rain now and again."

Michael smiled.

"Are you hungry? Do you need anything?"

Howard considered this, and shrugged. "Not really. I think I might lie down for a while."

Holly nodded in agreement and took his hand. "I'll go up with you," she mumbled, helping him to his feet. From where Michael was standing, it looked as if she sent her mother another death glare — but he couldn't be sure.

Soon, they were both on their way upstairs, leaving Michael with Annie in the living room.

He finally walked up toward the coffee table, and dropped his coat on the back of the recliner. "Hey, Annie," he said uncomfortably.

She sighed instead of replying in kind, burying her face in her hands. "How mad is she?"

"Oh, she's pissed," he said, bobbing his head. "She's very, _very_ P.O.'d."

Annie groaned.

Michael took a seat across from the couch and shrugged his shoulders. "And she kinda should be, because what the hell happened? How did he get across town?"

"I just wanted twenty minutes," Annie said, as if finishing a previous thought. "I _just wanted twenty minutes_ to myself while he had his check-up. I didn't know they'd finish up early!"

"Why didn't you just stay with him?" he asked, the obvious question.

"It's been too hard," she shot back, looking at him seriously. "He had to skip his medication this morning, because the doctor thought it was giving him heart problems. I spent the whole morning trying to convince him he knew me, and he wasn't being held somewhere overseas, and that I was taking him to the _doctor_ , and… It's just been awful. He's been screaming at me all day."

And he'd kind of hoped she'd had a worse reason, so that he could be mad at her with Holly — but that seemed like an understandable reason to him. He swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Annie shook her head. "They put him on new medication today, so he probably got confused and just did what he remembered — and he's _fine_ , obviously. I don't need Holly yelling at me too, for god's sake. I don't need everyone… _hating_ me today."

"I'm sure Holly'll understand."

At that, Annie sat up straight, and shook her head harder. "No, she won't, because I can't tell her. She doesn't know what her dad's like off his meds."

"So why don't you tell her?" he asked. "She'd probably rather know the truth!"

"I'm sure she'd prefer it," she shot back. "But that doesn't mean it'd be better for her. If she found out, she'd panic — she'd rush the wedding to make sure her dad would be lucid enough to walk her down the aisle, and she'd never move out of the house even if she'd say she would, and she'd eventually quit her job to take care of us — and _god knows_ she'd never go back to school. It would derail her whole future."

"I could help her," Michael pointed out.

Annie gave him a particular look then, and exhaled. "Michael, I've known Holly her whole life, and I know exactly what's gonna happen if I tell her the truth — which is why I'm holding you to your word that you're not gonna talk to her about any of this."

"But I don't think I can-"

Footsteps headed down the hallway overhead, and Michael cut himself off, locking eyes with her. They both listened intently, nervously, as Holly came down the stairs slowly, and walked down the hall.

She seemed a bit more at ease when she appeared in the doorway, to his relief. He smiled at her. "Hey… honey."

Holly flashed a quick smile at him before stepping past him. "Hey, honey, just a second. _Mom?_ " she said in a tone he'd never heard before, widening her eyes at her mother. "What happened?"

Annie hesitated to reply, first sending Michael a strict look under Holly's stare. "I know you're mad at me," she said, calmly. "But it was really the doctor's fault. They were supposed to have him for the full half-hour."

"You _left_ him, Mom!" Holly raised her voice as she came closer to the couch — and Michael leaned all the way back in his seat. She squeezed her eyes shut as if in deep thought. "How did you even rationalize that in your head? You might as well have just dropped him off at daycare!"

"I said it was a lapse in judgment," Annie insisted, seemingly unshaken by her daughter's yelling. Meanwhile, Michael was silent in terror.

Holly threw her hands up. "Okay! It was a lapse in judgment! Fine! How many times has it happened?"

At that, Annie's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"How many times have you lost track of him in public?" she asked without batting an eyelash, shrugging her shoulders. "How many times… have you left him at home alone so you could have some alone time? How often do you just get sick of him and decide to take off?"

Michael sensed the conversation was rapidly escalating and he reached for Holly's hand. "Honey-"

"Hold on," Holly interrupted, not looking at him. "Mom?"

"I didn't just get _sick of him_ ," Annie finally responded, quite enthusiastically, as she rose to her feet. "It had been a long day, and I thought he was in safe hands for a few minutes. And yes, Hol, I have probably lost track of him a few times — because as it happens, he does have an _illness_ , and sometimes, that causes problems. But you see him standing here, still alive, still _just fine!_ "

Holly furrowed her brow and nodded exaggeratedly. "Oh, yeah, that's good, because as long as it's not your fault, it's totally fine. Nothing has happened _yet_ , so it's perfectly honky-dory!"

"He's _okay_ ," Annie corrected her, pointing a finger at her daughter. "Case in point."

"All right," Holly relented, though it sounded all but all right. Looking hard into her mother's eyes, she hesitated a moment before adding, "Did it occur to you to call me? To ask _me_ if I would be willing to pick Dad up while I was in town?"

This stumped Mrs. Flax for a second, but that was all it was — a second.

"You were looking at apartments. I didn't want to disturb you."

"I've told you over and over again that I don't _mind_ -"

"And if you've noticed," Annie cut her off, "I've been doing this for quite a few years now. I've obviously managed without you breathing down my neck."

"I'm not trying to control you, Mom! I came here to be with you guys and to help you take care of Dad, and you're not letting me _do_ those things."

Michael, seated down below, felt a strong deja vu at the sound of two people yelling over his head, completely ignoring him but still in a way involving him because he lived with them. Part of him wanted to leave and part of him was scared to move an inch for fear of receiving a glare from either of them — mainly Mrs. Flax, because Holly didn't really seem mad at _him_ , which was good.

"I understand that you're trying to help, but _Holly_ , you haven't _been_ here. You don't know what goes on or what it's actually like from day to day with your dad. You don't know how often I'm thinking about _him_ and not myself. You don't know-"

"I'm so sorry I wasn't _here_ ," Holly interrupted, voice a bit hollow — and Michael looked up to make sure she was all right. Her eyes seemed a bit sunken, a bit sad, and that made him anxious for this fight to _stop_. "But every time I asked if you needed help, it made you angry."

"I'm not upset that you weren't here, for Christ's sake, Holly! Would you just listen to me? I'm just saying-"

"You're saying I'm a bad daughter, because _I wasn't here_."

"I'm s- I'm just- you, you don't _know!_ " Annie shouted, practically screamed just to get her words out. Michael's head shot up at the sound. "You don't _know_ how hard it gets, how wearing it is on a person to put up with every day — you don't know what it's like when he's..."

Michael froze in anticipation of the rest of that sentence, and so did Holly, and so did Annie, when she realized what she was about to say and stopped herself. No one spoke then, all eyes on Mrs. Flax — the room dead silent as the sentence hung on the air, their meaning unclear to only Holly. Goosebumps covered his arms as he waited for one of them to speak.

Neither of them would, it seemed.

So Michael, cautiously, edged off his seat and onto his feet. He found himself placed just away from directly between the two women, staring each other down — both with angry tears in their eyes, both standing the same way with their fingers clenched the same exact way. Michael glanced between the two a few times, before mumbling, "Annie…"

"I'm sorry," she said, before he could continue — to both his and Holly's surprise. Annie averted her eyes, lowering her chin, and exhaled roughly. "It was my fault. I'm sorry."

"Mom-"

"Excuse me," Annie announced as she stepped beside the coffee table and around Holly, toward the hallway. She said nothing as she left — no biting remark thrown over her shoulder, no anticipated forgiveness or reply, _nothing_ at all left over — and quietly ascended the stairs.

A large weight was lifted from the room.

Michael cleared his throat then, and looked over at Holly, whose eyes were on the couch where her mother had been sitting. She didn't move, so Michael inched his hand into hers comfortingly. As soon as his fingertips brushed hers, she lifted her head, meeting his eyes.

She looked so frustrated and _sad_ and Michael felt his stomach turn. He reached his arm out for her, and she turned directly into his arms, stuffing herself into his embrace without hesitation. Michael wrapped his arms around her tightly, and she returned the squeeze, _hard_.

And in that moment, he wanted so badly to tell her — because it wasn't her mom's fault, and it wasn't Holly's fault, and everybody was just misunderstanding each other — but he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He wanted to do something to make her happy, fast, but he couldn't think of a single joke or happy thing to say right now. He had _nothing_.

"I'm sorry," she finally mumbled into his shirt, breaking the neverending silence.

Michael opened his eyes to look down at her shoulder. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

He had nothing but the truth, and he couldn't give her that.

* * *

 _ **Internet's finally back. Enjoy.**_


	26. This Love I Pray that I Can Keep

**Chapter XXVI**

 **This Love I Pray that I Can Keep**

* * *

 _And as I lay me back to sleep,_

 _This love I pray that I can keep…_

\- "Sleeping to Dream" by Jason Mraz.

* * *

She didn't remember how she used to sleep alone. Michael was so _comfy_.

It was a cold, sleepy Sunday morning, and the sun was gentle on the bedroom window behind their heads — the house was quiet, because it was only she and Michael, alone. No alarm had bothered them out of their deep sleep. Holly had woken to the sound of absolutely nothing except Michael's deep breaths in her hair.

She yawned silently, not wanting to disturb him. His arm was trapped underneath her and his head curled up sideways above hers; she lay almost on her stomach, long t-shirt twisted around her body. Her bare legs wrapped around his sweatpants legs, her face buried in his chest, feeling his subtle heartbeat thump-thumping on her nose. She hummed a deep breath into his skin and wiggled closer.

Mornings like these made her want to move out.

And she'd almost reconciled it with herself, too. She'd had the conversation with her mom last night — Mom had sworn that she could take care of Dad, and if anything were to happen, she promised to call Holly right away. That was comforting, at least. Plus, Colin's apartment wasn't far from here, and it was at a good price, and it looked _perfect_ …

And it freaked her out every time she thought about it. Especially now, when everything was growing familiar and they were establishing a routine together — when everything was finally settling down and Michael was making friends at work — especially now that things were heading toward perfection, she was preparing herself. And she couldn't rationalize it, couldn't talk herself into sense. All she knew was that every man who had ever lived with her, wound up hating her, and Michael could be next.

She didn't think she could handle it if _he_ started to hate her. And it was wild, to think that far into the future, when he was right here now, still just as much in love with her as he was yesterday. She was like one of those cats in cartoons who looked at the bird and saw a roasted turkey — except she was looking at Michael, and instead, she saw a ticking time-bomb, until no more hugging, no more kissing…

 _Stop. Thinking. About it._

So Holly sighed out her anxiety and squeezed her arms around him, bringing his chest to her lips. Her eyes closed again as she left a few kisses on his skin, hoping to give him a nice wake-up call.

She didn't realize he had woken until he tilted his head down to kiss her hair.

"Good morning," he said, warm breath tickling her head.

Holly smiled, and mumbled, "Good morning."

His chest rumbled with a little laugh, and she kissed it again — flattened her hands on his back. He turned toward his side to look at her, but she didn't retreat from the battlefield of kisses on his skin, as her eyes smiled behind closed lids and her heart fluttered.

"How you feeling?" Michael eventually asked, and his fingers lightly tickled the back of her neck.

At first, she wondered why he was asking — but she took a comfortable guess that he was referring to the thing with her mom, and replied, "I'm okay."

And now that he was awake, she was really starting to feel okay.

Then Michael scooted down closer to eye-level, until his face was right in front of her. She chuckled. His eyes were still sleepy, and he didn't seem to realize how cute he was. So she kissed him right on the nose, to make the point nonverbally.

He grinned, but continued on the subject. "So you two worked everything out?"

That was a loaded question, so she propped herself up on her elbow to look him in the eye. "I think so," she decided. "We left it on a good note, last night. I don't know if I agree with her on what she _thinks_ she can handle, but we'll find out one way or another, I guess."

Michael nodded as he listened, and provided, "At least the lines of communication are open."

"Maybe." Looking into his eyes, she added, "I don't know. Maybe I'm being crazy paranoid here, but it just... It feels like she's keeping something from me, or putting off that she's doing better than she is..."

He went silent at that.

Holly sighed, shrugging. She ran her hand up and down his arm by a few fingers, following them with her eyes. "Maybe I'm just waiting for something bad to happen."

Or maybe unloading all her negativity him was the opposite of what she should be doing.

Having been oddly quiet during her musings, Michael finally showed signs of life, tilting his head curiously. "Nothing bad's gonna happen," he said; and he caught her arm by the wrist, bringing it around to his lips. She sighed as his lips met the inside of her forearm.

"I know. It's just... have you ever felt, like, a random sense of dread? Like you just have a bad feeling and can't pinpoint why?"

She hoped he still believed they were discussing her mother.

Michael briefly paused his ministrations mid-forearm to look at her when he replied, "Well yeah, but that's usually right before I'm supposed to turn in something I forgot to do, or when I get e-vited to my high school reunion, or when someone I don't like is hosting an award show and I'm trying to decide whether or not to commit to the whole three hours..."

Holly cracked a smile and shook her head. "Not quite like that."

"Sometimes I have instinctive things," he continued between kisses on her inner elbow. "Like warning sirens in my head. I think we get that in evolution — you know, monkeys have it. That's why they haven't gone extinct. But they're also not so smart with it... which is why some people, through no fault of their own, get poo flung at them when they go to the zoo — because the stupid monkeys think they're a predator. But hey, if I _was_ a predator-"

"That's more like what I'm feeling," she gently interrupted, and he returned to her arm. "I don't know... I should probably just take my mind off of it."

Then, Michael stopped, and looked up at her with raised eyebrows. His cheekbones made an enthusiastic appearance. She had a feeling she knew what _that_ look meant.

"So did you think about the apartment at all?"

She was right. Of course, this was what he wanted to discuss.

"A little," she said, and set her hand under the back of his head again. "I'm not sure what I think yet."

"And you don't have to be," Michael reminded her; to punctuate, he kissed her neck. Goosebumps rose up her legs. "There's no rush, obviously, but I... have sorta been thinking about it, and it's kinda the perfect place for us."

And the knot in her stomach twisted up again.

He continued to kiss her, from her jawline down to her collarbone in a playful pattern, pausing a few times to speak: "I think- you're going- to like what I- have in mind." Looking up at her, he added, "Wanna hear it?"

Holly really didn't want to talk about it right now, but she couldn't say "no" to that face. "Lay it on me."

"That's what she said. Okay, so I'm thinking," Michael said without a single pause, "we're only on the second floor, so- wait, let me start over. We get a dog."

Holly raised her eyebrows. "Oh. So I agree to this?"

He waved a hand at her, grinning. "Hypothetically, yes. I'm thinking a chocolate lab, or a golden retriever — something in that area. Maybe a beagle! They're cute!"

"They are cute," she agreed in an attempt to sound enthusiastic. Normally, she would be. But right now her stomach was hurting and she felt things rushing back...

She'd bought a pet with a boyfriend before. It didn't go well.

"And we would only have to take one flight of stairs down to walk him — and as we were driving by, I did happen to notice how close we are to the park, so I entered it into Google maps, and you know what? It said it would only take ten minutes to walk there, which means I could walk the dog every morning before leaving for work — _and_ there's a Krispy Kreme on the way, so I can bring donuts home for breakfast some days."

"That sounds pretty perfect," Holly interjected, hoping he would stop. Her stomach was knotted up and her heart thumped hard against her skin, and his gaze was so heavy on her.

It did sound perfect to her. He sounded perfect to her...

"And I'm not sure, but I think the apartment complex has a pool!"

But it was only a matter of time before the fighting started, and the looks became less loving and more and more resentful, and they'd always be out and never together, and he'd be laughing about her with his friends and yelling at her whenever she forgot to feed Fluffy and all she would ever feel was sorry, sorry, sorry, _sorry, sorry_...

"There is one! And it's indoor, so we won't be freezing our buns off when we-"

"Can we stop talking about it?" she interrupted, a bit louder than she wanted — but the anxiety was crawling inside her like a thousand tiny ants, and she didn't want to cry in front of him.

"I... Oh. Okay?" he said, sounding confused. His eyes looked hurt, and she took a sharp breath at the sight. "Sorry. We don't have to swim a _lot_..."

"No, it's- I'm sorry," Holly said quickly. She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's not you, or the swimming. I'm just- I'm sorry. It came out harsher than I meant."

"Are you okay?" he asked, and he sat up a little bit, the blankets slipping from his chest. "Do you not want to move yet?"

"No. Yes, I do," she assured him as she sat up to meet his eyes. She ran a hand down his arm gently. "I didn't mean to be short. I'm sorry."

Michael furrowed his brow, still confused, but brushed her hair back from her face and put on a little smile. "It's okay."

Then he just looked at her, in that loving, uncaring-of-anything-at-all, handsome way and she felt the fear again. She bit her lip.

"Wanna take a shower?" he offered, raising his eyebrows at her. "Get a li'l sudsy? A little slippery?"

She huffed a little laugh, and nodded. "Yes, I would."

That put a smile back on his face, and that was good — because she'd almost wrecked it there.

* * *

 _ **Done and done. See ya tomorrow.**_


	27. You Say We Need to Talk

**Chapter XXVII**

 **You Say We Need to Talk**

* * *

 _Step one, you say, "We need to talk."_

 _She walks. You say, "Sit down._

 _It's just a talk."_

\- "How to Save a Life" by The Fray ( _gorgeous_ cover by Nilu).

* * *

It was a lunch scene, and the seats were quiet. Three unopened sodas sat on the table; two pairs of eyes were locked on one door, and one hand steadied Ginny before she could get up from her seat. This was no time to give in — this was personal. This was a mission.

"Mr. Sc-"

"Sh-sh-sh," he cut her off, before her voice could reach that decibel that carried all the way down the hall and floated into the office door cracked open, where the target lay in wait. "And it we're going to be all official, you know what to call me."

"Oh… Um, Admiral-"

"Sh-sh! Look!"

They both froze in anticipation when the door shivered, just slightly so that it could almost have been his imagination — but then he heard Ginny's breath stop, and he knew. It was time. "The beast emerges," he mumbled in an Australian accent.

Ginny had not yet learned how to respond to him, it seemed. He was going to train her on that.

And there it was.

Out stepped into the hall a thirty-five-ish-year old white guy, all dressed up in a shirt and tie and really, _really_ wrinkled pants. He had his lunch in a paper bag, like a school kid — his hair was really full. He was smiling. For no reason, he was just… smiling.

"Oswald Benson," Michael announced under his breath. "H.R."

Ginny wrinkled her eyebrows. "That's him?"

"Yup." He opened his lunchbox with aggression, no longer concerned with the man in the hall. "My mortal enemy."

"He doesn't look like a beast," she remarked quietly, continuing to stare. "What did he do to you?"

Michael grimaced as he punctured his salad with a fork. "Nothing yet. I've only talked to the guy two times."

"Then… then why is he your enemy?"

"Because I have a sense for these things, Ginny," he replied smartly. He pointed his fork at her. "Believe you me. One day, I'm gonna run into him on my way out, and he won't have any of his scripted crap to say to me, and you know what? He'll show his bitchy side."

"But what if he doesn't _have_ a bitchy side?" she asked.

"Why're you defending him? Are you my assistant or not?"

"Shh!"

Michael shut his mouth as Oswald approached, and when their eyes met, Oswald waved. "Hiya," he greeted in that annoyingly-normal voice, stopping at the edge of the table. "May I sit?"

Looking him up and down, Michael shrugged. "Whatever."

Ginny didn't say anything to either of them, but she did nod her greeting as she started back on her lunch. The table was quiet for a moment as they each got into their respective meals.

Eventually, as Oswald poked a hole in his orange juice, he spoke up. "Don't stop the conversation for me," he said so innocently, and looked down at the soda on his side of the table. "Whose drink?"

"Heather's," Michael replied quickly. "So don't take it, or anything."

Oswald blinked, smile faltering just the tiniest bit.

Unfortunately, that left them with nothing to say for the moment, so the awkward silence roamed wild. Michael sent a look Ginny's way, but she didn't catch it. She was already seeking shelter in the comfort of her phone screen.

Now, in times like these, Michael was not one to sit idly by, looking around like a chump. Either he would start a conversation, with expert skill, or he'd text Holly a humorous play-by-play of everyone's shifting eyes and weird expressions, or in rare cases, he'd make a fart noise. But he couldn't really do any of these things. He'd sworn not to converse with the enemy under any uncertain terms; he'd been advised by both of the Flax ladies to refrain from making fart noises at this new job, so that was out, too. And he couldn't even joke about it with Holly, because things were weird between them lately and he was scared of making it worse…

"It is cold as _hell_ out there!"

Michael's head instantly shot up, filled with relief at the sound.

" _Hell is pretty notoriously hot, so-_

" _God..._ " Heather shot back from around the hallway. Something dropped loudly. "Zach, my boy, you are lucky I'm in such a good mood today. I might not even tease you for that tie."

" _There's nothing wrong with my tie."_

"Ho-ho, friend, you are wrong!"

He chuckled, glancing at Ginny — but she was still looking at her phone. Oswald seemed tickled, though. And that kinda sucked.

Heather came around the corner with lunch in hand and glasses slipping down her nose — hair standing up a bit in the back, he noticed, and clothes loose. She grinned smugly as she dropped to her seat at the table, her bags landing loudly on the floor. Throwing her weight back in the chair and reaching with one swooping motion to retrieve her soda, she took one look around the table before announcing, "Guess who got laid?"

Michael raised his eyebrows at the bluntness, and shrugged. "I dunno. Not me." Turning to his left, he added, "Ginny?"

Hearing this, Oswald interjected, "Uh, that's inappropriate. You can't-"

"Not me," she replied without looking up.

Michael shrugged again. "Then it has to be you, Heather."

And hearing _that_ , Oswald furrowed his brow. "Well, there's also me, if you're asking…"

"I think that's inappropriate, Ozzie," he pointed out while barely sparing a look at the man. "Ozzie-Fozzie. Don't be a hypocrite, Fozzie. No one likes a hypocrite."

"Hippogriff," Ginny remarked out of the blue, staring off at something. Michael had a feeling she didn't really listen to conversations enough to know context, but just to offer little pop-culture references. He actually didn't mind it.

"Valuable addition, Ginny," Michael decided, nodding toward Oswald. "Don't be a hippogriff. Or you might get sentenced to _death_."

Oswald clearly didn't know how to respond to this, and Michael took advantage of that by turning the conversation back to Heather.

"My laid lady?" he said, and waved his hand. "Continue."

Heather must have been struggling to hold herself back, because as soon as Michael met her eyes, she burst out with a lot of words. "So I met the hottest single non-celebrity non-political non-old man in the world on Saturday, all because Becky _needed_ his weekly dose of fro-yo and I couldn't bring myself to say 'no.' This grown man just happened to be getting _frozen yogurt_ at _lunchtime_ on Saturday, by himself! So at first I'm thinking, damn, what kind of weirdo gets frozen yogurt at lunchtime on Saturday by himself? But then we start talking and he's _fascinating._ And he's got _green eyes._ "

"How many dates have you had?"

She chuckled at that. "Dates? We haven't even had a date. He's been staying at my place all weekend."

Something about that comment finally got Ginny's head out of the clouds, as she set her phone down briefly to add, "But I thought you had a son."

Heather blinked. "I do."

At that, Ginny said nothing, and looked silently down at her phone.

The silence finally passed when Heather returned the conversation to Michael, asking sympathetically, "You didn't get any last night, Mr. Three-Times-A-Night Fiance?"

Michael had been enjoying the conversation going on in front of him, since he wasn't in the mood to be talking about himself today. He just wanted to be distracted, but he couldn't remember the Netflix password and coworker drama was the next best thing.

"Yeah… well," he said slowly, leaning on his elbows. "I don't know. This weekend was just weird for me, so… weird for us, overall, actually."

Heather frowned. "Trouble in paradise? Don't tell me the honeymoon phase is already passing. I like screwing vicariously through you."

"No, the- no," Michael sputtered. "No, um, it's not the sex. We're just having some, uh… well, I don't really know _what_ we're having."

"Just not sex?"

"Well yeah, we are, but…"

"So you're fighting?" Heather offered with narrowed eyes.

Michael tilted his head. "We're not fighting, either. I mean, we were just looking at apartments this weekend, because we were eager — or at least, _I_ thought we were eager to get out of her parents' place. But it was like every time we found a good place, she kept trying to find bad things about it."

Heather nodded slowly, considering this. "Is she one of those pessimistic types?"

He furrowed his brow and replied, "No, she's not, and that's what makes it weird, you know? I'm usually the one who's worried about things going wrong, and she's usually the one who's all positive and reassuring. And that scares me."

"Because you think she's cheating on you?"

"Yeah, and- _what?_ " Michael asked quickly. "What? No! That's not- no, she wouldn't cheat on me. Why would you think that?"

"Then she's afraid of commitment," she offered nonchalantly. "There's only a few reasons people don't wanna move in, Mike."

"But she's not," he said. "She was the one who suggested we move down here, and she was the one who tried to propose first, and… no. Something else."

Heather didn't seem to believe that, but she shrugged and went on down an imaginary list, ticking items off on her fingers as she spoke through a full mouth, "Maybe she doesn't feel the way she says she does?"

Michael shook his head. "Next."

"Maybe she's afraid to leave her parents alone?"

"We already talked about that, and she seems eager to get away from her mom… Next?"

She swallowed her massive mouthful and yawned. "Afraid of the idea of moving in? Has she ever done it before?"

"Well, _yeah_ ," Michael shot back. "With two of her previous boyfriends, at least. It shouldn't be that hard."

Heather tilted her head. "Secretly religious? Secretly a lesbian?"

"No, and no."

"Secretly abused?"

Michael opened his mouth to say "no," but something stopped him. He sat in silence. In his peripheral vision, Ginny's phone screen went black.

Heather seemed shocked as she replied, "She was _abused_ and you didn't take that into consideration?"

"I don't _know_ that she was," he amended quietly. "All I know is that her parents both disapproved of her ex, and her mom mentioned something about the way he treated her. She's never really talked to me about it."

"You need to talk to her about it," Heather said without question. "Christ. I had an ex that tried to hit me one time, and that was the scariest moment of my life!"

"I really don't think it was physical," Michael interrupted, shaking his head. He really, _really_ hoped it wasn't physical — or better yet, that it had never happened at all. "And I don't even really think it happened, so maybe I should just… _not_ ask her about it."

"Do that," Ginny interjected. To that, Heather sent her a look.

"What? And just let it work itself out?"

"The last thing you do to someone who's been through shit is bludgeon it out of them," Ginny said calmly. "It's a personal thing. I'm sure your fiancee will talk to you about it when she's ready."

" _Bad idea._ " Heather then turned to Oswald, who had been silent this whole time, and asked, "Right? Does anyone else see how bad that idea is?"

Oswald seemed blindsided by this question and hesitated to reply, looking between the two women and then at Michael with uncertainty. "Well, yeah, I think you should communicate with her about it. That's the foundation of a good relationship. Not sneaking around and talking to her parents about it…"

Michael blinked at Oswald, who was all high and mighty with his opinions and his good hair, and suddenly, the fog was cleared.

"Actually, I think you're right, Ginny," he decided, and set his hand on her shoulder. "I am going to wait. If it turns out to be something, we'll handle it when she's ready, and if it turns out to be nothing, which it _probably_ will, then no harm equals no foul, right?"

Ginny nodded in silent agreement, while the other two at the table loudly disagreed, Heather even covering her face to hide her disapproval. But Michael didn't care. He liked the _not_ -talking-about-it better.

Besides, Heather was a playgirl and Oswald was a loser, so who were they to be giving him romance advice?

* * *

 _ **Going home again tomorrow. Someone cross their fingers for me.**_


	28. So Break Me to Small Parts

**Chapter XXVIII**

 **So Break Me to Small Parts**

* * *

 _So break me to small parts…_

 _Let go in small doses._

 _But spare some for spare parts;_

 _You might make a dollar._

\- "Ode to Divorce" by Regina Spektor.

* * *

 **TW: Mentions of verbal abuse. If this is not something you want to read, skip this chapter.**

* * *

She was struggling.

She hadn't told anyone about it yet, because she thought it would pass, the way it always did — especially now that she had Michael to take her mind off it, to make her smile again. Her mother seemed to be picking up on it, but if she had anything to say, she wasn't saying it. They still weren't talking much after the incident last weekend, which was bad timing, because Holly needed to talk to her now more than ever.

This had happened a few times before, and it usually wasn't anything to worry about. It was only natural that when she was stressed, a few negative things from the past would bubble up — but this was so much worse. With the pending apartment and the awkward situation with Michael and the _other_ awkward situation with her mother all weighing in on her, all she wound up thinking about was A.J.

And he was the last thing she wanted in her thoughts.

It didn't help that work was becoming worse by the day, thanks to the assholes at her immediate left and right, whose mission was to make it impossible for her to work. David was always blasting his music through his earphones and Will just stared at her all the time, and when she tried to address either of them, they engaged in childish behavior - mimicking her voice, messing with her stuff, or outright ignoring her. Michael kept telling her to make a complaint, which was funny, because she'd tried twice already; the form was still hiding under her keyboard, after being sent back from Bill's office, twice. There were "no grounds for corrective action."

In other words, her boss didn't like her.

In fact, no one here really seemed to like her. She caught them whispering about her all the time, sending her looks and giving her a hard time during every meeting, making her feel a familiar sort of low. If it weren't for the apartment, Holly would have quit.

Also, she was avoiding the subject of the apartment, because it still scared the hell out of her — and by extension, she avoided Colin. So she had to wait an extra half-hour before taking her lunch break.

More than anything, Holly needed a distraction. She couldn't work, because everything was backed up for Bill's signature; she couldn't eat for another ten minutes until Colin left the break room. She could play games on her phone, but she knew what she'd see when she turned it on. Still, it was her only option.

The screen lit up with green message icons.

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _hello ma baby! hello ma honey! hello ma ragtime gaaaaaaaal!_

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _send me a kiss by wire baby my hearts on fiiiiiiireeeeeeeeeeeeee!_

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _hows your day going cutie?_

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _hellooo? who goes there?_

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _echo, echo, echo, echo, echo…_

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _I'm sure your busy, so just gimme a ringaling whenever your ready for me to pick ya up. ILY you!_

She chuckled to herself as she heard his voice in her head, singing the frog song and calling her "cutie." She wished the day was over so she could go home and see him…

He'd been acting oddly toward her, though, and she didn't know why. Something about the way he looked at her felt strange — she wasn't exactly sure what it was, but she knew something was different. And he hadn't brought up moving in a few days, which was also _strange,_ since he'd been so excited only a week ago.

The hour struck just then, the time changing at the top of her screen, meaning lunchtime for her. She sighed in relief, and stepped away from her desk, heading instantly for the break room. Down the hall, she could already hear loud laughter awaiting.

Maybe she was just keeping herself in the dumps for no reason. After all, her life was not bad in the slightest; she had a fiance who loved her, two parents who loved her, a future planned out for her, and a decent-paying job. If she could just leave the past in the past, she'd be fine.

"… goes on with these crazy eyes, like, ' _If we can hear it, you can_ _ **definitely hear it**_ _,'_ " a familiar voice rambled around the corner, while a few others either laughed or groaned. His high-pitched tone started to squeak as he continued, "' _Can you_ _ **respect**_ _your coworkers and turn it_ _ **down**_?'"

Holly stopped in the hallway, recognizing her own words — which were said in a _much_ kinder tone, but…

"And she harps about it every day - like bitch, if _we_ can hear how annoying you are, you can _**definitely**_ hear how annoying…"

"She's been bugging me all week," someone else said. "Just because I don't sign the paper to leave early on Thursdays. It's none of her business what I do! If it's a problem, I'll talk about it with _my_ boss — not some sexually-repressed, anal-retentive squirrel."

These words were obviously all aimed at Holly, and if they were supposed to punch her right in the stomach, they succeeded. She peeked her head into the room just enough to see how _many_ people were talking about her…

There were more than she'd hoped — a couple of whom she'd never even met, but were still laughing at her. She hadn't done anything to any of these people! She was just trying to do her job in the most respectful way possible…

"Bill told me she's trying to get me fired. Apparently she's sending in a bunch of harassment reports because I'm 'making her uncomfortable.' I haven't even looked at her!"

"Some people just love the _drama_."

" _Could you quit being so dramatic?"_

Holly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out that stupid voice in her head. She was debating whether or not to go in there and make them stop, or eat lunch at her desk…

"I know! Like, I don't wanna be mean, really - but her job is pretty miniscule compared to some of the stuff we do around here. You could teach a monkey to sign papers all day."

"But she's the only woman, so everything revolves around her."

" _Just relax, honey. Not everything is always about you."_

 _Damn it,_ she scolded herself, and edged away from the door. That familiar twinge of anxiety tickled at her heart against her will, and that was the last thing she needed right now — not while all her coworkers were laughing at her heavy expense.

" _Hey, hey, hey, I'm_ _ **kidding**_ _, Hol! You know I love you-"_

Holly started humming to herself to push the internal voice away, marching down the hallway and back to her cubicle. She could hear his stupid, tipsy laughter — could feel the stupid sting of his words — could see the stupid grins on the faces of all his friends taking up residence on her couch, and _damn, damn, damn…_ She'd been her normal self just a few weeks ago. How did he still have the power to make her feel so low?

She'd lost her appetite, so she clamped down the top of the lunchbag and tossed it onto her tiny desk, along with the rest of her willpower. She didn't want to work anymore. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl under the covers and sleep…

"Hey, Holly."

She lifted her head from her hands to see Colin standing by — the one person she'd been trying to avoid all day. He smiled when she met his eye.

"Hi," she replied quietly, and sighed. "Listen, if this is about the apartment-"

"I'm not trying to bug you to death," he assured her before she could finish. "It's just that I have a couple ready to buy, and you and Michael haven't gotten back to me yet — so I just wanted to ask if you're still interested. I didn't wanna sign any papers without giving you guys a shot."

As anxious and bent up as she was, and as much as she didn't want to talk about this, she did have to smile. "That's sweet of you, Colin. I…" she began, though her voice trailed off.

She didn't really know what they were thinking about the apartment. Michael wanted it, more than anything, and she wanted it, but she didn't know where her head was gonna be in the future and if she was even going to be able to get past this, and she was tired of talking about it, and even if she did sign the papers, she didn't know how she would be able to live with Michael while constantly worrying to death about what she would do to scare him away, and hearing these words in her head, she just…

" _You're not gonna do better."_

Holly actually physically winced a little bit at those words, and she glanced down at her phone screen silently, thinking about Michael. She knew it was silly to be so scared about moving in with him — after all, he really did love her, and she loved him, and Michael was _not_ A.J. And she wanted this. She _wanted_ to live with him, and marry him, and have kids with him, and be with him forever…

Just not yet.

* * *

 _ **This chapter really shows my age at the time of writing it, but I'll post it anyway. Also, there used to be a heart next to Michael's name, but doesn't allow hearts. So now it's this face :3**_


	29. Standing on the Edge of Something

**Chapter XXIX**

 **Standing on the Edge of Something**

* * *

 _And you're standing on the edge of something…_

 _Tell me I was right to care;_

 _Well, you know that I'm in love with you…_

\- "Thin Air" by Aqualung.

* * *

Michael was a showerer. When he woke up in the morning, he took a shower. When he needed to think, he took a shower. When he was making a dramatic movie sequence with his semi-waterproof camera, he took a shower. Never was he compelled to take a bath, for any reason, in all his life. But he'd been Chandler Binged.

There wasn't a bathtub in the guest bathroom, but Michael had found out that Holly's parents were letting dust collect in a deep clawfoot tub in their bathroom. He'd practically dragged Holly upstairs the second they got home on Thursday night, knowing they needed a warm, relaxing bath more than anything. As soon as she set eyes on it, she was out of her neat and tidy work clothes and down in a sea of bubbles, with him.

He could have fallen asleep right here, as the water cooled down and her body weighed lightly on him. Holly lay with arms wrapped lazily around his body, fingers tracing circles on his skin. Some of her hair fell into her face from the clumsy way he'd put it up for her, but she didn't seem to mind; when he peeked down at her face, he found she was completely at peace, and a little silly-looking with one cheek squished up against his collarbone and eyes drifting shut. He grinned and brushed a wet hand over her cheek.

She smiled up at him — and it may have been the first time she'd smiled all day.

He needed to know what was wrong with her.

What he'd been hoping was a phase had kept going all week, and it was so sudden and weird that he couldn't even take a guess at what it was. At first, he'd thought she wasn't ready to leave her parents — so he'd told her on Tuesday, " _Hey, we can find something a little closer to home."_ Then there was no change. So next he figured that something was going on at work, and he started texting her once or twice during the day to ask her how she was doing, hoping to get her to vent it out. That, too, had failed, which left him to his final theory...

And the next logical step was to perform a very gentle, very discreet body scan.

He didn't know if he really expected to see anything. By now, he was familiar with nearly every inch of Holly's skin — he didn't know how he could have overlooked anything. But the chance was there, and he couldn't put it at rest in his mind.

 _"Secretly abused?"_

That question had been so unnecessary. But it was in his head now, thanks to Heather, and it haunted him.

It was impossible. He couldn't imagine any scenario in which anyone could be mad enough at _Holly_ to do something like that. And he'd been mad at her before — plenty of times, especially back in Scranton. But she was the least threatening and confrontational person in America, and probably in the world. How

Michael reined her in a little closer to him, trying not to seem as anxious as he felt. She hummed happily and turned her head to plant kisses on his chest, which made his heart skip a beat.

Slowly, he squeezed her hand, and lifted her arm slightly out of the water. He began his examination, from the wrist up.

Michael definitely had a few favorite features of Holly's body, which he appreciated on a regular basis — the ridge on the very tip of her nose; the random freckle beside her bellybutton, and the birthmark along her ribcage. And he couldn't forget the fingers, with the painted nails and the small palms that felt natural on the back of his head. And there were the ticklish places on her neck and lower back, and behind her knees...

He wasn't merely familiar with her body. He had mapped her out.

But still he traversed, with featherlight touch, down the plane of her side and over her stomach. His fingers felt around for anything, and he peeked down through the bubbles, slyly trying to look for any old scars or bruises. She'd only left A.J. at the beginning of the year — if anything _bad_ had happened, wouldn't he still be able to see it?

Holly hummed as his hands moved lower down her sides, and opened her eyes. Nothing was said as their eyes met; Michael's mind went on full pause as he wondered if she noticed what he was doing. He blinked innocently, tilting his head at her.

Her eyebrows rose with a hint of suggestiveness. He wasn't sure what she was thinking, but when her eyes slipped down toward his lips, he got a good feeling. When she stretched up to reach his mouth, he decided he was in the clear. And he took a break in his search to kiss her.

The bathroom seemed much more humid as the kiss broke, and before he could open his eyes, she dove in for another. Water sloshed around them whenever she moved closer, as she seemed to catch more energy and kissed him again, mouth open and accepting. He inhaled, her hands gliding down his back and gripping his ass...

He tried to focus on the task at hand, definitely, but it was hard to think when his fiancee was very wet and very naked, and _very_ tightly pressed against him. Instead, one hand arrived in her hair and the other wound up copping a feel, neither doing their job at all.

Finally, he drew back for air, and opened his eyes to look at her. Her eyes were blindingly bright, causing his heart to thump-thump in his chest at an impressive rate. He swallowed.

Through shallow breaths she whispered, "I forgot we were relaxing."

His mind scrambled for any semblance of what words were. "This is relaxing."

Her lips parted, and she leaned in again, muttering, "Then let's keep relaxing…"

Michael had almost gotten his mind back together by that time, but then her lips were on him again, and the delirium returned with a vengeance.

This was his point. At times like these, she seemed perfectly fine, as if nothing had ever been different. He couldn't make up his mind, whether or not he was imagining it all. Sometimes she seemed normal and he decided everything was, in fact, normal; and then sometimes, she'd be in a weird mood because of something at work or something he'd said, or sometimes for no reason…

Holly's arms had circled around his neck in the familiar way and they lowered down into the water, rising and falling as she slowly retreated from the kiss. Her forehead fell against his and she muttered weakly, "Let's get a hotel room this weekend."

"Okay," he said, kissing her quickly before she pulled back. As she sat up, the wet tips of her hair fell out from behind her ear, and her body uncovered by bubbles… He swallowed hard as his eyes raked over her.

She noticed his staring while she fixed her hair, and mumbled, "What are you thinking about?"

Michael pressed his lips together, internally calculating how many hours he would have to wait until her parents went to sleep and he could take her to bed. Then he remembered her question, and nearly shuddered. "I want you."

That seemed to take her by surprise, for some reason. "Michael," she said lowly, as if warning him. He knew he needed to see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil if he was going to wait another three hours, but he just couldn't. He slowly drew her back into his embrace, and she sinfully leaned with him…

The closer she came, the more his heart raced; his eyelids fluttered lower as he muttered under his breath, "Maybe we can break the rules, just once?"

Holly smiled. "We can't."

"Or… we can," he suggested with raised eyebrows. He caught her in a kiss when she tried to argue, and her shoulders sank, resolve crumbling…

"-you are _such_ a bad influence," she protested as she pulled out of the kiss, though her body lingered on his. She propped her chin up on her elbows to smirk at him. "I'm just trying to be a good daughter. You're gonna get me in trouble."

He smiled at that. "Can you blame me?" he asked, wiping the bubbles off her chin. "If you could see yourself right now - you're like a soap goddess, or a bathtub nymph…"

Holly squinted at him, and glanced down without responding.

There was another one of those things that made him think she was upset. Whenever he used to compliment her, she'd just blush and be all cute about it — shy, but still. Lately all she ever did was deflect.

"What?" he asked after a long period of silence.

She looked up. "Just thinking."

Michael blinked, trying to decide whether or not to let that be. While he considered this, his hands wandered down her sides comfortably, so that he didn't even notice the motion. He didn't think about it until Holly shifted back up to a seated position, evading his hands, and reached for her towel without a word.

He swallowed, wondering what he had said or done to mess it up so quickly…

"Water's getting cold," Holly pointed out, and reached for his hand. "Ready for dinner?"

The way she so suddenly changed the topic made him nervous, as if he'd done something to scare her off. He mentally reviewed everything he'd been doing — with his words, with his hands… What had set her off? What had he done wrong?

This was going to drive him mad at this rate.

Still, he took her hand and they stood up out of the water, with loud splashing noises in their wake. Michael pulled the plug to drain the tub, while Holly retrieved the towels and started drying off. He straightened up to help her with the process.

"Thank you," she said softly as he dried her off.

Michael hummed in reply, because his mind was racing in thought. What could A.J. have done to her that would make her act so strangely at such random times? He was terrified to know — but perhaps more terrified to think about the other options. If it wasn't A.J., or any of her other exes, then what if it was him? What if she was acting uncomfortable because of something _he'd_ done recently?

 _Secretly religious? Secretly a lesbian? Afraid of commitment? Afraid of leaving her dad?_ _ **What**_ _? What is it?_

Once he was finished, she turned to look at him, a small something in her eyes as she put on a smile. "Shall we dress?" she asked innocently enough. When he didn't respond, she added, "I mean, we could go downstairs naked, but we're already stretching my mom's lenience as far as it can go…"

 _Secretly cheating on me? Not in love with me? It has to be something else._ _ **Anything**_ _would be better than this._

"Michael?" she asked, when he still didn't answer. "What's the matter?"

 _I don't know! I don't know what the matter is! Tell me what it is!_

"I just…" he began, without really knowing where he was headed. His hands sat lightly on her waist over the towel, and he stared down, trying to think of what to say to make her come out with it — to make her tell him what she was feeling — but there was nothing, really. There was no way to coerce her into being honest with him. He couldn't _force_ her to trust him.

So he sighed, and looked her in the eyes seriously.

"You know that if anything's wrong," he whispered, "ever, in any way, you can always tell me. If there's anything… I… am a good listener. I can listen, _really well_."

"I know you can," she said, nodding — and it physically _pained_ him, the way she kept shutting him out. She smiled at him. "I'm fine. You don't have anything to worry about."

 _Damn it! Just tell me what it is!_ he shouted internally, pressing his lips together. _I can_ _ **help you**_ _!_

On the outside, however, he just nodded his head and kissed her.

* * *

 _ **I bet one day, I'll never think about you again. I'll stop giving you things you don't deserve. I'll stop talking to you in my dreams.**_

 _ **I know you're not reading this, but this was all for you, about you. Everything was, for a time.**_


	30. You Stand Under the Clouds

**Chapter XXX**

 **You Stand Under the Clouds**

* * *

 _I don't know why_

 _You stand under the clouds, expecting_

 _To stay dry._

\- "Seattle" by Jason Walker.

* * *

 **TW: Mentions of verbal abuse. If this is not something you want to read, skip this chapter.**

* * *

Friday had been an awful day to cap off an awful week, and if she wasn't already fired, she was ready to quit.

David was in a particularly good mood today, and he'd decided to take it out on her. While she was trying to work, she'd received balls of trash, multiple backhanded comments, a one-sided staring contest, and even the question, " _So are you a lesbian or something? Sorry, you just dress like a lesbian."_ That was probably the moment when she lost her temper.

So in trying to be a calm, rational person, she didn't yell or act out in all her frustration. She simply marched down to Bill's office to hand in her third attempt at a complaint. But it was in vain, of course, because he just rejected it again. He calmly suggested that she "reevaluate the situation" once the emotions had settled down, and vaguely threatened that if she couldn't learn to be part of "the team" here, she might be better off looking for something else.

All she'd needed from that evening was some alone time, to work out the stress and embarrassment without her parents or Michael worrying about her. But today was a bitch of a day; apparently, Michael had actually convinced her parents to go out on a date night, leaving them to a night of their own at the house. Normally, this incredible sweetness would have been exactly what she needed — a private dinner and a movie, perfectly romantic...

Tonight, however, she felt awkward, humiliated, and definitely not in the mood to be looked at. She just wanted to hide.

But Michael was so happy about having time alone that she couldn't dare to let him down. So she'd saddled up for an evening of Italian food, _Gulliver's Travels,_ and, if she managed to stop feeling like shit tonight, some stress-relieving physical activity.

"You're not even watching the movie," Holly remarked humorously as she peeked down at the head resting on her shoulder. Now that the food was finished, Michael busied himself with periodically kissing her neck — "vampire-style," as he called it. This was the thing that would leave her with hickeys all weekend.

"Yes, I am," he argued, tickling her skin as he spoke. "The guy just challenged Gulliver to fight him... and the robot thing."

"Mhm. That happened ten minutes ago," she replied smartly. Her hand slid out from beneath his shirt to lightly flick him on the head. "We paid good money to rent this movie."

"It's not a very good movie," Michael said in protest, and lifted his head briefly to speak. "Besides. I'm just enjoying all the time I can get before your parents get back and 'no more making out on the couch.'"

She chuckled, resting her head on his, and glanced up at the TV. "I think it's almost over anyway."

"We've only got a couple of hours left," Michael warned. He loudly kissed her neck, which put a smile on her face. A few kisses later, he added, "I can _not_ wait until we're living alone again…."

"Yeah," Holly said, without much to add.

"I miss just walking around naked, you know?" he said; and Holly wrinkled her eyebrows at him. "We don't ever do that anymore."

"We never did that," Holly replied incredulously, smiling.

Michael looked up at her, visibly confused. "We didn't?"

"No!" she said with a laugh.

"Oh," he mumbled, and glanced back at the screen vacantly. "Well, we should."

Holly didn't really know what to say, except to laugh at this odd request. "Okay," she decided, tickled, and laid her head back on his.

Once the conversation had seemingly come to a stop, Holly let out a sigh of relief — because she wasn't ready to talk about the apartment. She was stifling a lot of guilt since Wednesday, when she'd told Colin they weren't interested in the apartment — the apartment of Michael's _dreams_ — because she was too scared. Every time she thought about what she'd done, it became too difficult to look Michael in the eye — to talk to him about moving in together and walking around naked and adopting dogs and buying donuts. He didn't know what she'd done.

She worried he would sense her anxiety, so she started up to her feet, gently scooting out from beneath him. "I'm gonna wash these off," she announced as she reached for their plates. Michael's eyes were on her now, and she could feel it, but she put on a smile and pretended not to notice.

"I'll come with you."

Holly's head shot up to see Michael standing up, and she blinked rapidly. "You don't have to."

"No, that's okay," Michael insisted gently, but knowingly. His eyes were set on hers so that she could feel his determination. He smiled quickly. "I want to."

Sometimes Holly felt as though he knew her too well.

So they both headed toward the kitchen, leaving the movie playing behind them — as neither of them were really interested in it anymore. Holly wished they had picked a better movie. Maybe then, he wouldn't be so talkative…

Holly started the water running while Michael came up beside her, dishes in hand, standing a bit distantly from her. When she glanced back at him, she found his eyes drifting to the floor in a thoughtful way. She turned back to the sink quietly.

"Has Colin said anything about the apartment?" Michael finally asked.

Her stomach dropped instantly, and she turned the water up. "Not really," she lied.

She looked back at him, and saw that he only nodded his acceptance of the fact. "Okay," he said eventually. "I was just thinking that since we've got nothing planned tomorrow, we could maybe go over there and talk about making a deal."

Holly turned the water off and stepped away. "Maybe."

He said nothing in response and started the water again, rinsing his own dishes.

She nearly walked away with that, because technically, he hadn't forced anything out of her. She wanted to, and she really, almost did…

But she looked back at him on her way out, and she could see it on his face — the same expression he'd kept on all week. He was confused, and obviously worried, even though he pretended not to be. And he didn't press her. He just… waited.

And he deserved to know the truth.

"Michael," she said with a nervous sigh. "I need to tell you something."

The weight of his waiting was evident as his head jumped up from the sink, though he tried to play it off with a tilted head. "Oh… Okay. Everything on the up and up?"

He'd asked her similar questions so many times that she almost instinctively said "yes," but she let her breath go quietly. As hollow as the fear sat in her chest — the anticipation of his anger, and disappointment — as much as she dreaded to say the words, she forced them out.

"I told Colin to sell to someone else," she said, and continued in one breath; "He kept asking me if we were still interested and for some reason, I just… I- I don't know. It was an instinct. I said 'no.'"

The water shut off then, and she stopped short, expecting him to respond. But he didn't even seem to react, leaving the kitchen completely silent as she waited and watched. When he finally turned to look at her, she averted her eyes.

"Not to say that it was justified," she continued quietly. "It was… terrible of me, and I've been feeling guilty every since I did it."

"Did he-" Michael started, stepping away from the sink. Her stomach fluttered with anxiety. "Has he… sold it, yet? Do we still have a chance?"

Holly kept her head low as she muttered, "I think he's going with someone else."

She glanced up at his face, then, to see how he was taking it. She was surprised to see very little anger at all in his expression… But the alternative wasn't better.

He looked completely heartbroken.

"Oh," he simply said, with a slow, devastating nod of acceptance. For some reason, he didn't seem surprised by any of this.

A brand new kind of guilt made a lump in her throat as she looked at him, a full view of what she had done over the past week or more. He'd been so ridiculously happy only weeks ago, until she'd started worrying him and snapping at him and _lying_ to him, and now — now she'd let this A.J. nonsense wreck it all. They could have had a _great_ apartment. They could have been out of the house weeks ago, even. If she could have just gotten _over it_ , she would never have hurt him.

"Why?"

His voice broke her train of thought, and she met his eyes again. "What?" she asked, though she'd heard him.

Michael shook his head. "Why are you… I mean, why?"

Her jaw trembled a bit, and she had to look away before she could lie. "I don't know why. I wasn't thinking."

"Is it your parents?" he asked anyway. His tone was hopeful, as if this answer could make it all better. "Because if it is-"

"It's not that," she said honestly.

"Is it commitment?" Michael continued without missing a beat, as he took a step in her direction. "I knew this was fast, but I thought you were ready."

She bit her lip. "I am, but-"

"Then what?" he whispered, his hands landing on her arms gently. "I can't just keep guessing what's wrong with you, Holly. I need you to _talk_ to me."

"Nothing's _wrong_ with me," she said. "I just made a mistake!"

"It's not just that, though," he interrupted, poking up a finger in protest. "You have been acting all weird for a while now. Every time I want to talk about our future, or if I compliment you, or just lean into you the tiniest bit, you give me this weird look and you get all distant. And it makes me feel like I'm going a little bit _crazy_ , you know?"

"You're not," she assured him, with a sigh, "going crazy, okay? I know I've been in a weird place lately. But I _am_ okay."

Michael's eyes widened at that. "But you gave away the apartment!"

"I wasn't _thinking_!" she insisted.

"Yes, you were! You're always thinking! You are the most rational and responsible person I have ever _met_ , Holly," he said, voice raised. "So what the _hell_ is going on?"

She then inched a bit away, growing frustrated. "Maybe it's personal, okay? I don't have to talk about it."

"You don't _have_ to, but-"

"Okay!"

"But don't you _want_ to?" he continued to ask. "For God's sake, Holly! We are engaged. _To be married_. We should be able to talk to each other about this stuff."

"I should be allowed some privacy, too!" Holly protested. "Isn't that fair?"

"Not to me," he said with an unhappy laugh.

"Well, maybe it's not _about_ you!"

"It is if you start making decisions for _both_ of us!"

Holly groaned, hands pressed to her face. "I said I was _sorry_. What else do you want?"

"I want you to tell me why you won't move in with me! _Why won't you_ -"

"Because when I-" she started to say — and then, Michael's mouth stopped moving, his stare heavy on her in anticipation of an answer. But she stopped herself there.

Michael's eyes softened while he waited, and when it became clear that she couldn't finish, he whispered, "When you what?"

She looked down quickly, blocking him out as her mind went into panic mode. She couldn't tell him yet. It was so much better that he didn't know, and if he never found out, everything would stay the same…

"Holly," he said, drawing her eyes back to his. "Just tell me."

"Because when I moved in with A.J," she forced out the words, one at time, "he just… changed. Everything changed. We started fighting, and he spent all his time with his friends and left me alone in the apartment… and he'd always come home drunk and start yelling at me when things didn't look the way he liked... And in the morning, he'd apologize — and we'd be fine for a while, until his friends came over and he started making jokes about me, and calling me names, and then when I'd get mad about it, he'd just go off at me, right in front of all these men…"

She drew a sharp breath against the lump in her throat, eyes growing a bit foggy as she rambled on, "And it was humiliating. It made me feel tiny, and ugly, and he just _used_ those feelings to make me afraid of leaving. And I just kept staying. I wanted to be loved and I wanted a future so much that I…"

Her voice broke there, and it was a good thing, because she might not have stopped talking otherwise. She forced herself to take deep breaths, to stay the tears from falling, and lowered her eyes behind her bangs so that he couldn't see. She sniffed quickly.

"Honey-"

"And it's embarrassing to talk about," she stopped him, before he could stop her. "I didn't want you to know about that side of me, because I'm ashamed of it. When I was transferred back to Scranton, I was _terrified_ to see you." She sniffed again and took a swipe at her eyes. "Because I wasn't the same person you… fell in love with, and…"

All at once, Michael stepped toward her with arms out — and she looked up to find his eyes almost as teary as hers, but she moved away, shaking her head. "Michael, don't."

"It's okay," he said instantly.

"I'm not ready," she whispered, her voice trembling. She swallowed hard. "I'm not..."

Michael's brow furrowed at that, but he did hesitate, stopped dead in his tracks. He shook his head incredulously. "Holly-"

"I need to…" she started to say, and turned around to leave the kitchen, rushing away from the scene. Her head bowed as the tears made roads down her cheeks, and she caught her breath as she escaped the living room, and headed upstairs.

And it was even heavier than she'd expected it to be.

* * *

 _ **Happy holidays, sorry for the lateness - insurance companies suck ass and I've been bouncing between houses. When I get the fook on these ADHD meds, maybe I'll get better at keeping these updates going. Cross your fingers.**_

 _ **Also sorry for making Holly cry :/**_


	31. This My Excavation

**Chapter XXXI**

 **This My Excavation**

* * *

 _This my excavation, and today is Qumran…_

 _Everything that happens from now on —_

 _This is pouring rain._

 _This is paralyzed._

\- "Re: Stacks" by Bon Iver.

* * *

 **TW: Mentions of verbal/emotional abuse. If this is not something you want to read, skip this chapter.**

* * *

He couldn't decide if this was better or worse.

By his count, it had been twenty-eight minutes since he'd last knocked on the door, and she hadn't responded, and she hadn't unlocked the door. Nine minutes before that was when she'd first fled the kitchen — but not before he had successfully made her cry, which was a punch right in the stomach. He'd once promised himself to never make her cry again — and it was funny, how that had happened over A.J., too — but it wasn't six months before he'd done it again.

And she hadn't just been crying. She had broken down right in front of him — the first time he'd ever seen her lose her temper like that. And she wouldn't even speak a word to him now.

It felt worse.

He wished he hadn't done it, even though he'd thought it was the right thing. He'd just tried being patient for so long, since he'd first met Annie and she'd said that one little _thing_ about A.J., thinking that Holly would trust him enough to tell him. He was tired of seeing her feeling so obviously miserable, and pretending he wasn't there to feel it with her. But he hadn't meant to make her _more miserable_. He'd just wanted to help her.

She'd been right. It wasn't any of his business.

 _So much for Heather's "advice."_

Now, he was dying as he waited, in his lonely place on the lonely couch in the empty house, just a floor below the one person he wanted to see. He didn't know what he had to do to get her to let him inside, but he was considering anything an option at this point — buying her flowers, pretending to be a delivery man at the front door, and even calling _Annie_ for advice. And he did _not_ want to tell her what he'd done in the few hours Annie had been out of the house.

 _I could say I have to pee and the downstairs toilet's clogged. I'd have to clog it, though, in case she checked… and I don't have to pee, so I'd have to fake that, too. Wait…_

 _Nope, still don't…_

Michael glanced over at the door to the hallway, where the stairs awaited.

 _Maybe I could pick the lock. Just have to run out to a store somewhere, get some bobby pins. Where do they sell bobby pins? Maybe at a gas station… But I don't want her to think I left her. Unless she wants me to give her space, in which case I would be going above and beyond…_

 _Why the hell would she be embarrassed by this?_

His mind kept circling back to that same question. It felt ridiculous, for anyone to be embarrassed around him - especially Holly, who had seen most of his demons and stuck around. He'd done stupid, _really_ stupid things for her - and for other women, and especially for Jan - and she knew about most of those things… or some of those things.

He looked up at the clock for the gajillionth time, and finally sighed.

 _Thirty minutes. It's go time._

So with only one plan to work with, Michael nervously stood up from the couch. If there was no Plan B, all he could do was to keep knocking. Even if didn't work, it would show her that he was still trying.

He didn't know why, but he tiptoed up the stairs, in the effort of being completely silent — as though if she didn't hear him coming, she would let him in the bedroom. Admittedly, he was very clueless about this situation. He'd never been in a fight like this without Jan convincing him to take full responsibility and apologize - and sleep on the couch to pay his dues. Holly hadn't really attacked him or anything, so there was no reason for _her_ to apologize, so he didn't know who should _apologize_ … He just didn't know what to do with this.

And if he'd had any idea of what to say, he blanked on it when he got to the door. He raised his hand to knock, but he didn't. He opened his mouth to call her… but he didn't.

Instead, he leaned toward the door and listened.

It became quickly apparent that there was nothing to be heard — which was good news, because half an hour ago, the sniffles and tissues had been audible. Perhaps she was doing better now. Perhaps she'd let him in the room.

Knocking was probably the better bet, but that instinct had come a second too late.

"Holly?" he called through the door, voice catching. He cleared his throat. "Can I come in?"

At first, he only received silence — not even a breath or a sigh, or anything to suggest life. His eyes wandered to the crack in the door, as though he could see if she was still inside through that tiny sliver of light. He almost tried it until she replied.

" _No."_

And it was just like that — brief, concise, and not apparently leaning toward any emotion. Still, it was enough to scare him. He strongly resisted the temptation to go hide downstairs again.

"Are you mad at me?" Michael asked next. Again, he was met with a long pause. He squeezed his eyes shut.

A sniff came first, and then she said again, " _No."_ Except this time, the inflection was obvious. She was still upset, and the fact filled him up with so much anxious energy that he could probably have kicked her door down if he tried.

 _Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit..._

He didn't know what he'd been hoping to hear. Maybe he'd thought she would figure it all out by herself? Hell, that was what she'd been trying to do for however long now. _Obviously_ that wasn't working.

"Honey," he tried again, raising his voice so that she could hear him clearly. "I know this is a big deal, and you may not want to talk to me, but I think you should give me a shot, here, you know? I need to… help. Whatever you need from me right now, I'll do it, no questions asked — but I don't want you to shut me out because you think I don't want a piece of this. Because I really do. I want a big, three-layered, corner piece of this… with extra frosting… and little chocolate flowers, around the edges, with… big… _words_ on it…"

" _The door's open."_

Even when she was dealing with a crisis, she knew when to shut him up. Michael smirked to himself as he slowly turned the doorknob — and lo and behold, the door was unlocked.

He peeked his head into the room first, to get the lay of the land before he took that one small step. A blonde head lifted in his peripheral vision, and he found her instantly.

There went his smirk.

She'd removed some of her work clothes, leaving her in her gray pants and white tank top. Her hair looked a little messy from being pulled away from her face — her nose and her eyes were pink, the most noticeable of her features as she looked up at him head-on. She sat at the farthest point from the door, up on the bed with her back against the wall. Balled-up tissues littered the edge of the comforter.

Holly sniffed, blinking away as much of the teary evidence as she could while she stretched her legs out to span the bed. It seemed like an invitation of sorts, but he proceeded only with caution toward the bed.

"Hey," Michael said tentatively. His eyes locked on hers, before she could look away, and he inhaled.

"Hey," she muttered, and cleared her throat. She sniffed. "I'm… sorry, about all that. That was overdramatic of me."

"No, it wasn't," he assured her with a nod. A few more nervous steps and he reached the edge of the bed, where he sat at first — and as he landed, his hand almost came to her leg, but he pulled it back. Instead, he looked up to her again and just talked. "I pushed too hard. I'm sorry."

"No," she interrupted, taking a shaky breath as her voice reached a bit of a break. "I meant the _apartment_ …"

Michael wrinkled his forehead, huffing a breath. "I don't even… that doesn't even matter, anymore. Just forget that."

"It _does_ matter. You loved it so much and I-"

"So?" he insisted quietly. "Who cares?"

"I do," she said, scooting herself closer against the wall. "I _want_ you to have things you want."

"Then let me have _you_ ," Michael said, without even having to think. Then his eyes lit up, surprised at himself. " _God,_ that was smooth. Did you hear that?"

Holly cracked a tiny little smile, though it faded. "Smooth."

He smiled back at her and tilted his head. He thought he would make some sort of joke here, but the silence felt a little better, so he didn't. With one hand he scooted himself further up onto the bed, toward the wall but a little bit apart from her so that she wouldn't feel crowded. He didn't stop until his sock feet were sitting in front of him, three or four inches to the left of hers.

For a moment, nothing was said.

Now that he'd gotten this far, he didn't know what to do.

He knew what he _wanted_ to do, obviously. He wanted to reach over and hug her and kiss her and tell her everything was going to be okay, and then maybe afterward, to go throw rocks at A.J.'s windows down in Nashua — but he couldn't do any of those things right now. He also wanted Holly to talk to him, but he couldn't make her do that, either.

When he looked up, he could see her straight ahead, in the mirror across the room. Her eyes were downcast, so that she wouldn't notice him when he looked at her — her arms were crossed over herself protectively, effectively shutting him out, and her face was tied up in this terrible, frustrated, _ashamed_ expression which caused his stomach to turn…

" _I didn't want you to know about that side of me, because I'm ashamed of it."_

He almost might have never known, he thought. She'd never, _ever_ shown a sign of this before — or if she had, he hadn't been looking. Maybe he should have been looking for it. She'd still been with A.J. last Christmas, and he'd been so preoccupied with impressing her that he didn't even think about how she was _feeling_. He'd never called her, in the year that they were apart, just to check up on her. And now, when they were _living_ together, it had taken him months just to…

 _ **Damn it,**_ _damn it, damn it…_

Was he really so oblivious?

Michael huffed an angry breath into the empty room, and shook his head slowly. "I'm just so…"

In their reflection, Holly looked up at him, with the pink-rimmed eyes that could have pierced his skull. Her lips parted, but nothing became of it.

Before he even realized it, tears pricked at the corners of his own eyes. He didn't want them, but he couldn't put them off.

" _It made me feel tiny, and insignificant, and he just_ _ **used**_ _those feelings…"_

Forget throwing rocks at his house - Michael wanted to _kill_ A.J. He wanted to physically _hurt him somehow._ How could a person take someone so special and treat them so _shitty?_

"Michael…"

It came in a whisper, and when he met her eyes, he knew she could see the tears coming. He took a deep breath, trying to shake it off — but he just _couldn't_ , he was so _mad and he just needed to…_

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, teeth gritted in frustration. "I'm sorry I didn't… call you, or- I'm sorry I didn't help you. I was stupid."

"I didn't say anything," she interrupted, her voice gentle and tone patient. "It's not your _fault_."

That put him to silence for the moment.

He didn't understand why she wasn't angry at all. She deserved to be angry about this. She even deserved to be angry at him for pushing her to this point, and at her mom for spilling the beans in the first place — but she wasn't, and it just confused him. And it made him madder at everything else.

"It was my fault," she finally said, conclusively, "for staying."

Michael wanted to argue with her; but when he lifted his head to do it, he saw her face fall. So he kept his mouth shut. He waited patiently for her to continue.

"Even when things were good, they weren't really that good," Holly admitted under her breath, and shrugged. "He was an asshole, but he pretended it was because he loved me. He'd do these little things, all the time — he'd come in once I was dressed, and if he didn't like what I was wearing, he'd 'suggest' I change. It wasn't flattering or my body, or I was too pale to wear that color, or my boobs weren't big enough for that cut…" She huffed a little laugh at that. "And… for the first time in my life, I went on one of those… _gross,_ juice diets, because he said we were going to 'get into shape' together. And then he'd go out and eat hamburgers with his friends, but we wouldn't talk about it."

"Fuck that," Michael interrupted, brow furrowed. "Fuck _him_ , fuck- fuck that. No. You look great. He was a _potato_."

Holly's eyes wandered down when he turned to her, and she cleared her throat. "I don't know," she said quietly. She inhaled and it sounded as if she were going to say something else, but she didn't.

Again, he'd somehow managed to make it worse. He obviously just didn't know how to help.

How was he supposed to be her husband? This wasn't going to be the last time she needed him, and if he couldn't learn how to _talk_ , he was going to fail. Holly deserved someone who could comfort her, and he was _failing_ her.

His instincts weren't helpful, either, because when he looked over at her, pulled away from him in the reflection of the mirror, head buried down below, all he could think about was Jan. He'd been through these same feelings of hurt and embarrassment with Jan, and Holly knew that, so why was she so ashamed? He hadn't told her _everything_ about Jan, but she knew…

And he knew that the last thing he was supposed to do was to make this about him and not her, but maybe, if she did know — maybe if he told her, she wouldn't feel so alone. She wouldn't be ashamed.

"Jan…"

Holly's head lifted up just an inch at the word.

Michael swallowed, and quickly continued, "…used to make me sleep at the foot of the bed."

She didn't reply, which gave him plenty of time to regret saying that. That fact, out of many embarrassing facts, was the one he'd least wished to share with her — but he'd been hoping, maybe, it would break the ice or something. Maybe she'd feel more comfortable.

He eventually chuckled at himself, though he wasn't feeling very funny. "She did - like a pet. If that's not embarrassing, I don't know… _what_ is."

Finally, _finally,_ she looked at him.

And she didn't just glance; she really, seriously looked him in the eye, unwaveringly, for a long, quiet time. He didn't know whether to look away or to maintain the eye contact, so he just huffed a breath. "So…"

She sniffed.

"A.J…" she started then, to his complete shock — and he tried not to let his eyes widen as he listened. She bit her lip before continuing; "A.J would… force me to kiss him, even when I was upset. He'd stand in my way or grab my hand and wouldn't let go until I did. It made him feel like we were 'okay'. "

Michael furrowed his brow, ready to fire something back at that — but she was really talking to him now, and maybe, he just shouldn't.

"Jan used to ignore our safe-word, during..." He had to avert his eyes for that one, and his voice broke a little. "I, uh, I complained about it to her, every once in a while… So she'd threaten to go sleep with someone else, someone better or younger - someone specific, like she'd been thinking about it, and it scared me so much that I'd stop complaining."

"Michael," Holly breathed, voice tainted with disbelief as she scooted up against the wall, shoulders broadening-

"Don't," he said, before she could get upset. "Not- it's- it's okay. Don't get mad."

Her eyes were strong on him, and he could feel the anger radiating off her — and he understood why she was angry, but he wished she wouldn't be. It was embarrassing for him, and he just wished…

"A.J. was a little like that too, I guess," she eventually muttered, looking away. "Sometimes it felt like _that_ was all he wanted. He wouldn't force it, but he wouldn't be happy until he... got what he wanted."

"Yeah," Michael said, nodding.

"He never really wanted to talk to me," she continued, as if she were just now recognizing this fact. "Well, _he_ wanted to talk. But then when I talked, and I got… _excited_ , about something…" Her voice sounded rough, as though she were getting emotional again. "He just…"

Michael's heart dropped in his chest as he watched her struggle, her eyes squeezed shut and her head falling back into her hands and her words never quite coming out. He took a deep, painful breath, because he _really wanted to give her space right now but_ …

His tone throaty, he tried to take his turn. "Jan used to-"

"Michael, I can't do any more-"

" _Me neither_ -"

Holly threw her arms around him, leaned across the bed as her head fell right into his shoulder and she inhaled a shuddering breath. His lungs collapsed in relief as he squeezed her tightly into his embrace and drew her the rest of the way across the bed. Tears squeezed behind his eyelids, and he tried to keep calm, tried to be the calm one here — but he felt like a _wreck,_ heartbroken and pissed off about what _she'd_ been through and heartbroken and pissed off about what _he'd_ been through and heartbroken and _pissed off_ …

Holly's head turned so that her wet eyelashes tickled against his neck while she breathed shakily, and slowly, her legs curled up beside him until they were as close as they could probably be — and she gasped suddenly, and her body wrenched a bit surprisingly, causing him to jump a little. But he just held her in closer and sniffed at his own tears.

"I…" he started, until she gasped again, and he bit down hard on his lip. Her crying was making _him_ cry…

Muffled in his shirt, she breathed, "I'm sorry-"

"Shh…" Michael insisted, his lips landing down in her hair as he blinked the tears out of his eyes. "It's okay. Don't apologize."

She forced out a slow breath, one of her deep yoga breaths she was always doing, just the way she was always telling him to do. She sniffed, and breathed out again, slowly…

And in that moment, while she let out a year's worth of emotions into one of his new shirts and did her yoga breaths and made herself vulnerable and opened up to him, _finally,_ finally, all he could be was so, so, so so so proud of her.

"I love you," Michael whispered, pressing his cheek into her hair, "so, so, _so_ much. I love you so much."

Holly seemed to chuckle at that, and sniffed again while wiping her eyes on his shirt. "I love you more," she muttered, her fingers twisting up in his shirt as his arms shifted around her.

He pressed a kiss behind her ear, lips smiling against her hair, eyes closing in a small, tiny moment of relief.

"I doubt it."

* * *

 _ **Thanks for the reviews. Here's some good old-fashioned hurt/comfort stickyfluff. So yeah.**_

 ** _I think she really hates me, sometimes. I'll log into something else and find that she cut more ties, and see all the friends she has and the places she's been, and I think she really just has to hate me. I know it's irrational. I know I shouldn't be thinking about her right now. I shouldn't let it drag me down again, but it does, every time. I wish I'd never known her. I wish it was over before it started._**


	32. And It's All Because of You

**Chapter XXXII**

 **And It's All Because of You**

* * *

 _No oxygen, could barely breathe —_

 _My darkest sin erased, released,_

 _And it's all because of you._

 _Nobody's gonna love me like you._

\- "Nobody" by Selena Gomez.

* * *

The night was closer to tomorrow than yesterday by now.

It was supposed to snow tonight, but they hadn't seen it yet — and the blinds were cracked in anticipation. The sky was cloudy, obscuring the moonlight from the near-black room overhead. The cold, too, reached its fingers out to get them, but it could not succeed. The blankets were their shields.

They'd spent a long while in this bed, and it was sufficiently warm enough for them to lie here now, in neither clothes nor secrets. Those had gone out through the cracks of the door. Now, it was only the two of them.

And it wasn't as scary as she'd thought it would be.

They had stopped talking a couple of hours ago, and stopped making love maybe forty minutes ago. The rest of that time had been occupied with silence — one long, relieving, completely relaxing silence. For the first time in a very long time, the silence didn't cause her mind to race with all the things she had to say, or had to _not say_ , and the face she had to save and the secrets she had to…

 _Nothing_. There wasn't a thing left.

The fact came with a sigh of relief, and she turned her head back into his chest. The blankets came half-over her face, obscuring nothing she could have seen — her eyes closed again, a drowsy blink.

Thinking about it now, she had come to the conclusion that this, which they were experiencing in this moment, was the height of intimacy — or of that which she'd witnessed in her lifetime. Physically, they had been like this plenty of times, but emotionally…

There was a bridge, she felt, that had been built tonight. Because as many times as she'd heard about his past and his pain, and as many times as she'd reflected on her own circumstances and emotions, this was the night that they'd related the two. They'd fit the pieces together.

He who had once been this intangible possibility, this hope onto which she held, was now just a cuddly bunny in her arms. He was also her saving grace, and the most impossibly-patient man in the world, and a bucket of compassion and a waterfall of love and her best, best friend… but right now, just a cuddly, snuggly bunny.

And he was still awake.

And after a long night of crying, and emotional strain, and subsequent sex, she was tired. _He_ had to be tired, too. But here they were, still awake at some odd hour of the morning, after her parents had come home and gone to bed already.

The fact could have been due to their occasionally-growling stomachs.

Holly yawned, eyes scrunching up shut, and slid her hand up Michael's back slowly. She could feel his muscles reacting to her touch, meaning he was conscious — her arm curled around his body and pulled him tight to her chest, until releasing her tension with one long breath. When his lips wiggled into kiss formation in her hair, her aching cheeks returned to smiling. She pressed her lips to his collarbone warmly.

His leg wrapped around hers down below, hooking around her, bringing her in closer. She exhaled, leaving a few more open-mouthed kisses on his skin. Then a hand inched up her ribcage ticklishly, and her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she wondered where he intended to go with this.

She had already started the internal energy calculations until she heard the loud, resounding growl of his stomach once again. And she smiled.

"Grr," she mumbled in a low, sleepy voice, eyes barely opening.

He huffed a little laugh overhead, and she could see his smile in her head. "Grr…"

"Grrrr, _hungry_ …"

"I'm hungrrrrry," Michael grumbled, shifting back to look at her. "Feed me, feed me!"

Chuckling, Holly reached around for his hand under the covers, and looked up at him in the darkness. There was no way to tell if she'd met his eyes, but it seemed like it. "Cereal?" she offered.

"Anything," he breathed, already starting up out of the sheets with her hand locked in his. The sheets tossed away from her shoulders as he rose against the mattress like a tide, and she slowly ascended with him — her body one big weight but her mind wide awake and springy. She yawned again, stretching by the shoulders…

The lamp came on, illuminating the room behind her eyelids, but it was a long few seconds before she could open her eyes again. When she did, she was surprised to see the room as they'd left it — clothes on the floor, tissues filling the trash can in the dim yellow light. Hanging on the bathroom door were their robes, and that's where she headed first as she stepped out of the blankets, headfirst into the cold in nothing but the chilly Colorado air and her parents' unhealthy relationship with the air conditioning.

Holly tiptoed across the wood floor while Michael shifted sleepily behind her, letting out another long yawn that made her smile. She reached up to retrieve the garments, her sheer black robe and his fluffy white one, while she, herself, yawned.

"Think we'll wake them up?" he asked.

Holly turned back to face him, and shook her head. "They've been asleep for a while. We should be in the clear."

"Are you sure?" Michael asked again as he blinked the exhaustion out of his eyes. "It'd be awkward if we ran into each other."

At that, she grinned a little, sauntering to the bed with a peculiar boldness. "Take a walk on the wild side," she suggested in a smooth, low voice — something smacking of Morgan Freeman — and handed him his robe. " _Hey, baby…_ "

"Candy came from out on the is-land," Michael joined in quietly. He accepted the robe and wrapped it over his shoulders, slipping one arm in at a time. "In the back room, she was erybody's dahling…"

"But she never lost her head…"

"Even when she was _bow-ba-chow,_ " Michael hummed, looking up at her suggestively. A big grin came over his mouth. "She said, 'hey, babe…'"

Holly bit her lip, eyebrows raised, and gave him a little whip with her robe-strings. "C'mon," she whispered. She extended her hand bashfully.

"It's over?"

"It's over, yeah," she said with a chuckle.

"Yeah," Michael whispered, smiling. He took her hand then and allowed her to lead him out of bed, finally. His fingers wiggled between hers just as she turned toward the door, and she blushed — for whatever reason this time — she was in a semi-permanent state of blushing tonight — it probably wasn't physically healthy to have this much blood in her face — she blamed Michael completely — and she led him to the door.

In full stealth-mode, Holly opened the door, and they crept out into the hallway. Michael followed her through the hall and down the stairs — he'd been here long enough to know to skip that third creaky step, which gave her heart an extra little beat. At the same time, it made her eager to finally leave and get their own place, but that was kind of her fault, so she couldn't complain.

Michael had managed to keep quiet all the way down and even around the living room, but when they'd reached the kitchen, he burst into giggles. Holly looked over her shoulder at him.

She smiled at the sight of a perfectly-happy Michael Scott, doubled over in silent, breathy laughter in his fluffy robe. It was a relief to have made him happy.

Once he'd composed himself, Michael passed her for the refrigerator, food on his mind. Holly pulled out a barstool in the meanwhile, taking a seat across the counter from him, criss-cross-applesauce with her cold feet tucked under her legs. She leaned her elbows on the countertop, her chin resting on her fists, and watched Michael as he silently judged between the regular milk and the almond milk.

She smiled. "Honey, if you wanna try it, just try it."

"But what if I _don't_ like it?" Michael mumbled, his back to her in deep consideration.

"What if?" Holly offered with wrinkled eyebrows. "You just pour it out."

"But Annie told me not to waste milk," he said right away. At that, Holly's mouth opened, and she strongly withheld laughter as he turned back to look at her. Michael's eyes were one hundred-percent serious and intensified by the white refrigerator light behind him. "I don't wanna get in trouble."

Control slipped and she giggled suddenly, though she instantly shut herself up. But it wasn't soon enough.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"Why'd you laugh?" Michael asked, so incredulous at the idea of this being funny.

"Mom's not gonna _punish you_ ," she surrendered, eyes squinty with silent laughter. "We can buy more almond milk."

"I know," he protested with a furrowed brow, and let out a ridiculous laugh. "I _know_. Obviously, she's not gonna punish me. Doy."

Still, he hesitated for a moment, before retrieving the almond milk and shutting the refrigerator with a sense of finality — as if this choice could not be unmade now that the fridge was shut. Holly lowered her head to hide her big, goofy grin, and stared at the counter while cabinets opened over her head… until her eyes drifted closed for a moment…

"What's ya poison?" Michael's voice floated overhead, over the shuffle of cereal in boxes.

Without opening her eyes, Holly mumbled, "Honey bunches, please."

"Comin' right up!" he announced, and another box came down from the cupboard, landing a few inches away from her sleepy head. He then audibly began to craft their cereal, while Holly listened in complete silence — and smiled, appreciating the ability to rest and simply _be_.

It was strange to finally have a silence unfilled with tension, even though she knew Michael still had questions to ask about all this; mainly still, she knew that he was okay to wait. The pressure was gone, because Michael loved her and he related to this and he recognized how personal it was. He wasn't going to force anything.

And she wasn't as scared anymore. Sh was still a _little_ scared, but not _as scared_.

"All right," he interrupted the silence, and milk poured into a bowl, drawing her attention up and eyes open. "It's up to you, now, Almondo Milkio. Can you substitute por el Julio Milka, leetle man?"

"You can do eet," Holly joined in, channeling Speedy Gonzales. She watched as Michael gathered a spoonful of Frosted Flakes and raised it up to his lips. "I have faith een jour nutty deleeciousnees!"

Down the hatch it went, and she observed Michael's face with rapt attention, waiting for the inevitable expression of delight in three, two…

And alas.

He scowled.

" _Yuck_ ," he shouted with head tilted back to keep the milk in his mouth, eyes screwed shut in complete disappointment and distaste. "Yuck, yuck, _yuck_ , that ih nasty! That' juht ahful! _Yuck_!"

Holly's lips clamped shut to stop herself, but it was of no use — she was cracking up, watching his wide eyes and stiff lower lip protest, and he wouldn't swallow it… "Michael-"

He swallowed it, with his expression so scrunched-up and disgusted that Holly had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into loud fits of laughter which would surely wake her parents. Michael sputtered at the aftertaste of the milk — his lips sucked into his mouth, shaking his head violently. Holly's voice squeaked between airy laughs.

Once Michael had finally recovered his breathing, panting over the bowl on the counter, his head swung dramatically up to look at her. His expression soured into her smiling eyes. "That was _disgusting_! How can you drink that?"

"It's not that bad," she chuckled.

"It _is_ that bad! It's- very bad! Very bad!" he seemingly scolded the milk, and pushed the bowl across the counter toward her. "Ugh. Do you… want that?"

Holly shrugged, accepting the spoon from him. "Sure." Without hesitation, she took a bite, her expression maintained normally as a person who very much enjoyed almond milk. Michael was in visible disbelief, lingering at the counter to watch her eat, head slightly shaking. She tried not to laugh with a full mouth. "What?"

"You and your weird yoga-person milk," Michael said as he turned back to retrieve the regular milk from the refrigerator. "And your rye bread and keem-wa-"

"Quinoa," Holly added between bites.

"Quinoa," he said. The fridge door shut loudly, and half-turned around, Michael froze. His eyes widened, and his voice lowered. "That was loud…"

She chuckled. "Michael, how many times have they woken _us_ up in the middle of the night?"

He didn't seem to want to answer that, eyes wandering down and focusing instead on the cereal he poured. Eventually, he mumbled, "A lot…"

"Exactly," she said. "And I think they're pretty knocked out, too. They didn't even come find us to say 'goodnight' before bed."

Michael nodded exaggeratedly. "Yeah, that was lucky…"

Then he looked up and met Holly's eyes, and his chin dropped slightly, both of them silent for a moment. She pursed her lips and set her spoon down. "Lucky why?"

"I don't know," he quickly replied, and rushed to put the milk away. He kept his back turned from her an unnecessarily long amount of time while adding, "I didn't know if- I don't know, I didn't know if you'd told her about… we don't have to talk about it. Nothing."

That was one of those questions she knew he was keeping at bay — he obviously felt very uncomfortable asking it. In fact, he hadn't seemed anything but uncomfortable every time they talked about this. They both had a similar distaste for conflict. It was something they'd have to work on from here out.

So Holly set her bowl aside, leaned over the counter to catch Michael's hand, and whispered, "Hey."

He looked up at her, putting on a smile. "Sorry."

"I'm okay to answer questions," she insisted. "I _want_ to. And you can ask as many as you want."

"You don't have to," he said.

"I want to," she repeated, smiling at him. Then she retreated back to her side of the counter, voice softening. "Yes, my mom knows about A.J. Besides you, she's the only one that knows."

Michael's eyes widened. "Oh," he said lightly. It appeared to be some sort of relief to him, that no one else knew — maybe that she trusted him first — because then, he relaxed a little bit. "Okay. That's… not your dad, though?"

She shook her head. "Nope."

"All righty then," he said with a big nod. He looked down at his cereal studiously, having forgotten to eat it, and now took a big bite in the silence — chewing considerately, for what felt like a long time before he spoke up again. "Well, um… Can I ask, maybe, when in your relationship the problems began? _If_ not at the beginning," he amended. "I mean, me and Jan weren't the same from the start, so I know it's… not always, you know…"

His voice trailed off, leaving Holly a quiet moment to think about it.

"Once we moved in together," she answered with a shrug. "Mainly. The more comfortable we were together, the more his personality started to show, and the more he realized he didn't… really, like mine."

"Oh, that's lame," Michael muttered, looking down at the counter. After a minute, he added, "Is that… maybe… why you've been dragging your feet, about the apartment?"

Holly instantly nodded. "I think so, yeah… And I know… um, that we lived together before, in Scranton, and I didn't have a problem with that — and I'm not sure why, I guess…" She looked down into her Frosted Flakes, squinting her eyes. "Maybe it didn't feel real, or something… I mean, I knew I had to go back to Nashua or make some kind of decision about that, and it was just your apartment, and we weren't… talking about _kids_ and stuff."

"Do you not want kids?" Michael asked, his voice wavering as he said it but his expression firm as Holly looked into his eyes, surprised. He shrugged. "Because if you don't, you can tell me. We can figure it out, at this point — I just… I just don't wanna _lose_ you."

"I want kids," she said in the most serious tone she could manage, eyes locked on him, head lowered to clarify. "Michael, I want kids with you, more than anything in the world. None of that has changed. It's just that when things got serious with me and A.J., that's when everything fell apart, and — and the sheer, _intensity_ of how much I want that is the reason I've been so scared. I don't wanna lose _you_."

"You could never lose me," he argued incredulously — and to emphasize his point, he reached both hands across the counter to take hers, pulling them close. "Are you kidding me? You could become a crazy axe murderer, or, or like a zombie! Like from the Walking Dead, and everyone would expect me to shoot you and I wouldn't, because you still couldn't lose me. And you'd bite my head off and eat my brain and then I'd become a zombie, and we'd start attacking our families, and it'd be horrible and gruesome and dark and all of America would cry for how terrible and tragic our story is, and everyone would die. _That is how much I love you_."

"Michael," Holly stopped him, laughing at the analogy. "I love you, too."

"Then good!" Michael announced, and he dropped her hands. "Good, then, we're good. If we can just… _stick with that,_ stop worrying, maybe we'll actually be just fine."

"Maybe," she said with a chuckle, shaking her head. She took another bite of her cereal and asked, "Any other questions?"

"Maybe," he replied instantly as he chewed, and swallowed. Quiet for a second, he considered his words before continuing, "Yeah, actually, I do have one… if that's okay."

She smiled, looking down at the counter. "Lay it on me."

His head bobbed in recognition, though he didn't respond. Looking up at her quietly, he set his bowl aside, wiping the milk off his face before leaning down on the counter. A slow breath punctuated the silence. She began to twirl her spoon in her fingers.

"Okay," he decided under his breath. "So what did A.J. do to make you break up with him?"

The spoon flipped out of her grip, clinking down in her bowl. Holly raised her eyebrows. "Oh," she said as she peeked up at him. She pretended to think it over, even though she already knew the answer. "Well, I guess I finally made the decision on New Year's. I mean, I was really only in it to get married and have kids, so when Pam and Kelly asked me if we were there yet… You know. I gave him the ultimatum and he didn't take me seriously — and when I said I was serious, he made jokes about it."

"Funny jokes?" Michael clarified.

She shook her head quickly. "No, they weren't funny. He told me I was crazy if I was going to give up a real relationship for some fantasy, and pretended like the conversation never happened. And then when the deadline passed and we were still together, you were upset at me, and you said it was pathetic…"

"I'm sorry," he interrupted in a low tone. "I didn't mean that, at all, and I didn't _know_ -"

"I was never mad at you," Holly reassured him, reaching for his hand. "Not really. I was mad at myself for not going through with it. And when you apologized to me…" A little smile hit her cheeks as she thought about it. "And I remember this, because it was a very big deal to me. You told me that I 'loomed so large in your heart' that you crossed a boundary, and that you hoped that we could stay friends. That…"

Her voice caught, and Michael frowned, shaking his head. "Hey, don't you go," he said lowly as he gave her hand a squeeze. "Don't start crying. Don't. Don't make me emotional again."

"That was just so important to me," Holly whispered hollowly with rapidly blinking eyes. "To have someone care about me, and would tell me that- So I called him." She inhaled deeply, and sighed. "I called him and broke up with him on the phone. And he didn't believe me, and he told me I wasn't gonna find anyone better, not at my age. And I… told him that I was gonna try anyway."

"Good," he shot back, nodding. His tone sounded strained. "That's… what he deserves, for being such an ass. God… I wanna punch him. I want _to_ _punch_ him."

Holly smiled, and sniffed. "Come here."

"Okay," Michael whispered; and he rounded the counter sleepily, squeezing his eyes shut in exhaustion, with arms outstretched for her. She caught him before he'd come to a stop, pulling him into her embrace. He might have fallen on her for being so tired. He took a deep, sighing breath, squeezing her tightly.

She hid her grin in his shoulder, and whispered, "Did I make you emotional?"

"Damn it, _Flax_."

She chuckled, giving him a squeeze, and let her eyes fall closed.

* * *

 _ **Idk what this is but the angst will end soon I promise and happy holidays boys and girls and others!**_


	33. Seems Okay Now

**Chapter XXXIII**

 **Seems Okay Now**

* * *

 _Die-hard, bird is flying now…_

 _Seems straight, seems okay now…_

 _Feels right, aloha and mahalo…_

\- "Banana Smoothie" by the Naked Brothers Band (this reference is too specific).

* * *

Despite the fact that he was dead-tired and Ginny kept going M.I.A. during her coffee runs, and the fact that Heather and Zach were bickering still to this minute with the door open, and the additional fact that rain was pouring on the huge panes of glass behind him and growing dangerously near to the capability of _killing him_ , Michael was having a pretty awesome day.

When Monday came, he wasn't ready in the slightest. Holly had kept him up all night, talking and making love and then talking some more — and that had been the trend of the whole weekend, now that he thought about it. They'd seriously, genuinely _talked_ more than they probably had in their whole relationship thus far — and unlike his "serious talks" with Jan, he hadn't come out of it with a headache. He was tired, hell yes, but he was _happy_.

Holly was smiling again. They were talking about their future, and cuddling, and having sex, and damn it, Holly was finally _smiling_ again.

And it was all over. The secrets were behind them.

Now that they were back in the open with each other, Michael felt that returning urge to literally tell her _everything_ — including Annie's secret about the worsening condition of Holly's dad's memory, which, if he could, he would blurt out right away. But for reason number one, which was that Annie had sworn him to secrecy because it was a family issue to begin with, and for reason number two, which was the big, beautiful smile on her face, he elected not to say anything for now.

However, there was a serious possibility that it might come out sometime this evening, so he was gonna grab dinner with the first person he could find and stay out a little late if he could. Hopefully, if she would ever _come back with his coffee_ , that person would be Ginny.

The patter of frozen rain slapping on his window kept him barely awake as he stared at the ticking clock on his desktop, watching five o'clock inch nearer and nearer and nearer and nearer… and nearer…

And he still didn't have his coffee. And he might die without it.

" _-not even my problem anymore,"_ Zach's voice floated in from down the hall. " _I'm talking to H.R. tomorrow!"_

" _Oh, would you_ _ **calm**_ _your tits?"_

Michael's eyebrows raised — such strong and weird language to be heard reverberating through this big, official office floor — but that was Heather, he'd quickly discovered.

He and Holly had decided Sunday morning that, because their environment had brought up a lot of bad feelings for her, they were going to work together to make their environment better. That meant that she was going to get her complaints at work all the way through to her boss's boss, no matter what it took. It also meant that she would have to confront her mother about their issues — including the big fight about losing her dad, which he guessed they still hadn't talked out, and the whole "telling Michael about her personal life and private, secret information," which was a big no-no.

He was avoiding that conversation like the plague. Holly had insisted she wanted to do this privately with her mom, and Michael was not about to argue with that. But there were no promises that he'd come home to a happy household later.

Maybe he'd just skip the coffee and go for a drink.

" _Oh! Excuse me!"_

" _Yeah."_

At the sound of Ginny's voice, Michael's head shot up from his desk. In the reflection of his now-black computer screen, he noticed a big red mark on his forehead. He wasn't clear on just how long he'd been lying like that.

Close to his office now, two pairs of footsteps resounded — one more stalking, the other practically tiptoeing — and Ginny asked, "Is everything all right?"

Heather chuckled, and her door creaked open. "It will be soon."

Michael's eyebrows wrinkled, but he forgot about it and just focused on the coffee that would be coming through his door in three, two… He could smell it, he could smell it, he could smell it.

Ginny's head peeked into his open office, in the typical bashful way. She'd been here for a while now, but she still waited for a nod before entering his office. "Coffee's on," she announced.

"Thank _god_ ," Michael groaned, squeezing his head between his hands. He yawned loudly and motioned her in. "I'm so tired it's stupid. I just need a bottle of caffeine pills or something."

"No, you don't," Ginny said pointedly, and handed his coffee to him. "Um… it's very bad for you. Don't."

Michael shrugged it off and blew into the hole in the coffee cup, though he'd already burnt his tongue twice today, and he couldn't even feel it in there anymore. It was all a matter of faith now. Then he gave up on cooling it down and took a big, scalding swallow, no regrets. He hissed out a breath between his teeth. "Shoosh-yeah… That's a hot cup of coffee."

She made a small noise through her nose as she turned to take her seat. Michael looked up at her then, his eyes finally strong enough to open just at the taste of the coffee. Still in her long, navy-blue dress from this morning, her hair was now pulled up out of her face — and for the first time in probably ever, it looked as though she'd put on makeup.

That must have been the hold-up on the coffee.

"You look all cleaned-up," he pointed out, though it sounded weird now that it had come out of his mouth. Ginny met his eyes, and she swallowed. "Not that… You always look clean, I mean. You look like — today, I'm noticing — or, rather, just now, I see that you've… changed your hair?"

"Oh. Yeah," Ginny said, eyebrows raised widely. She glanced down over herself, one hand tugging at a wave of hair. "Well, I have to see someone tonight, so I decided to… look… better."

Michael nodded enthusiastically. "You look great!"

Ginny smiled, and replied quietly, "I know I do."

His eyebrows shot up at that, a smile spreading on his face. Ginny shrugged her shoulders, sitting down without much more to say on the matter.

"So who's the lucky guy?" Michael had to ask, and he opened his hands up. "Or girl. You haven't said yet, I don't think. Or transgender, also! Who knows? I don't. Yet."

Ginny's mouth twitched oddly. "I… don't think transgender is another whole gender."

He blinked, and added, "Well, yeah, I mean, that's what I was… I was being open-minded, Ginny. Forward-thinking." Michael tapped his forehead. "Gotta keep up with the times, you know? We can't restrict ourselves to two genders anymore. There are probably… many other genders out there. Maybe some we haven't discovered yet. I think there's animals, who aren't male or female — or are both, right? And mate with themselves. And there are the asexuals, too, who aren't any sex at all — no boobs, no penis. I don't… know how they pee, but I think-"

"Yeah," Ginny interrupted, but shook her head. "I'm not dating anyone, though. It's not a date, tonight, that I'm going to."

Train of thought abruptly stopped, Michael blinked slowly. "Oh? Okay. Yeah." He leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee. "Empowered woman — I like it. Independent black woman who doesn't need no man."

"I just don't have time for dating right now," she continued. "I've gotta take care of my brother most of the time, and when he has bad days, he can be… a lot to manage."

"Mm. How old is your brother?"

"Twenty-eight," she said nonchalantly.

Michael's steady rhythm of chair squeaking stopped, and his eyes widened slightly. "Oh," he said. "Well, that's- that's too bad. I was gonna ask if you maybe, wanted to grab some eatin's. But if you're busy… nevah mind it."

Ginny took in this information without a word, and nodded her head understandingly. She then looked out the window behind him with vacant eyes.

"So did you guys not work it out?" she then asked.

He raised an eyebrow, staring at his computer as it shut down at an embarrassing speed. "Whaddya mean?"

"You and your fiancee," Ginny clarified, and he looked up at her.

"No, we talked," he said right off the bat — and he cracked a smile. "We actually, yeah, we did work it out. We're doing… we're at a really good place right now, thankfully. No, I'm just trying to keep away from this conversation, that she and her mom are having tonight. It's gon' get ugly."

Ginny nodded again. "I see."

"Yep," he said, sighing. He turned his eyes back to the computer monitor. "I might go see a movie or something. Or… look at some apartments. Play some online poker…"

"You just shut your computer off," she pointed out.

Michael shrugged. "Yeah, well…"

"Michael!" came an interruption from the hallway, just before his door swung open, and in burst Heather — not calmly, or even at a normal speed, but in a flurry and with her purse already on her shoulder. She stopped short just behind Ginny. "Hey, listen, I need to get out of here really fast but I'm overhearing some things and it sounds like free food?"

Michael blinked widely, gaze shifting between Heather and Ginny. "Uh, well, I hadn't — decided anything yet, but maybe." Turning back to Heather, he asked, "Why do you need to leave so fast?"

"I put something in someone's car," she breathed, a look of wild excitement in her eye. "And they're going to find it very soon, so is that a 'yes' or…?"

Still wildly confused, Michael decidedly stood up from his desk, pushing his chair away. "Yeah, sure. Ginny, is it a rain check or no?"

Ginny was busy straightening the collar of her dress when he asked, and she looked up quickly, seemingly surprised. "What? Yeah, no, I'll come," she said. She reached down for her bag with a yawn. "I don't have anywhere to be for the next hour, so-"

"Yup, yup, yup, come on," Heather urged her as she inched toward the door. "I could very well get arrested if we don't get _moving_ …"

"What did you do?" Ginny asked softly.

"Do you really wanna get subpoenaed for asking that question?" she challenged. Then, when she met Michael's eyes, added, "Let's go, let's go, let's go…"

"You think you're actually going to court for this?" Ginny questioned, a hint of panic in her voice.

Heather chuckled. "No way. Not this time."

" _This_ time?"

"Shh!"

Then from down the hall, a loud, booming voice resounded, which Michael only recognized from association. " _Heather!"_

"O-kay," Heather said finally, laughing nervously to herself as she gripped the edge of the door. "I'm gonna go ahead downstairs, and I'll meet you guys in the parking lot…?"

" _What the_ _ **hell**_ _do you think-"_

"I'm not here," she whispered.

"What if Oswald finds out?" Ginny asked quickly.

Heather made a face at that. "And… what? Confronts me?" she joked. "I'm shaking."

" _ **Hey**_ _!"_

Heather jolted back, and shut the door behind her.

Meanwhile, Michael and Ginny were frozen in place, looking at each other. Her lips were pursed as she fished for something in her purse, without a word.

" _I know you're here! Your car is still out there!"_

Ginny made a little noise of amusement to herself.

Michael's eyebrows shot up, watching her as she stood up. "What's funny?" he asked quietly.

"They're so hot for each other," she mumbled through a smile. "It's ridiculous."

His eyes widened. "Oh. Really? You think… really?"

" _Hey, stop-_ _ **Hey!**_ _I'm gonna_ _ **kill you!**_ "

She shrugged her shoulders. "I could be wrong."

* * *

 _ **Here's this. Thanks for the reviews.**_


	34. I Hope You Found It Now

**Chapter XXXIV**

 **I Hope You Found It Now**

* * *

 _The grace you only ran from,_

 _The bridges that you burned,_

 _The peace of mind you learned to live without —_

 _I hope you found it now._

\- "Hope You Found It Now" by Jason Walker.

* * *

"Wow… Would you just look at that? Look at her go. She's _beautiful_."

"Wow," Holly agreed as she stared at the TV screen, watching as some exotic bird made her nest with great precision, pecking at twigs and biting off branches in her little beak. This was the third spotlighted bird on the episode, and by then, Holly was definitely finished with dinner — but she couldn't tear herself away. She would have, because she really needed to talk to her mom, but… the bird was pretty beautiful.

And she was putting it off within an inch of her life, but also, the bird.

"Look at that plume," her dad continued in sheer awe, though he'd seen this rerun plenty of times. Either he'd forgotten he'd watched it or he was still just as amazed by the colors — and both were likely. "Those babies are gonna be gorgeous."

"Oh, I bet," she added mindlessly. As if to further keep herself from leaving, she sunk deeper into the couch beside her dad, resting her head on his shoulder. She felt twelve years-old again, when she and her dad would curl up together and watch nature shows, and whenever a really pretty animal popped up, she'd pull out her notebook and write down the colors, and they'd go read about it at the library on Saturday. That had been a great time in her childhood.

"Hey, Dad," she started to ask, glancing up at him. "Do you rem…"

He looked down at her, an eyebrow peaked as he waited for her to finish. Then her tongue caught, and she stopped abruptly.

Now that she thought about it, she didn't want to know.

"Do I what?" he asked with a half-smile.

She shrugged, turning back to the TV. "I forgot what I was gonna ask."

He paid it no mind and returned to his focus on the screen. His shoulder relaxed beneath her cheek, putting a smile on her face. She tried to just enjoy the moment without wondering.

The bird now rearranged her nest, and her father sighed contentedly in observation. She subconsciously mimicked him.

"Hollywood," he eventually said, to her surprise.

Without looking up, she mumbled, "Yeah?"

"You should talk to your mother."

Her eyebrows shot up at that, and she froze. Obviously, he wasn't as unaware as she'd hoped.

"I will," she assured him with a nod. "After this episode, I'll go."

"You should go now," he said calmly. When she looked up at him, he smirked. "Before the boy gets back and you get distracted."

Holly inhaled deeply, pressing her lips together. "Is she still mad?"

"Nah," Dad said with a wave of his hand. "She just misses you. And you know your mother's not good at saying she's sorry."

And logically, she knew he was right, as much as she hated to take this advice. The last thing she wanted to do was to have another fight with her mom, when she was still so raw from the whole thing about A.J. and Michael wasn't here in case she needed him…

But she couldn't argue with it. Her dad didn't give his opinion on many issues between her and Mom; but when he did, he was usually right.

"I'll be back in a minute," Holly finally said. She hesitantly sat up from her dad's embrace, giving him a nervous smile. "Wish me luck."

He shook his head. "I'm not worried about it at all."

That was nice to hear, because she was terrified.

But up to her feet she went, and around the couch and out of the home theater toward where her mother had been hiding since Holly had come home — the kitchen. Even during dinner, Mom had been cleaning, and then eating alone, and _then_ she'd started on the dessert, because when she couldn't find the words, she could always find the recipe. Growing up, Holly had received a _lot_ of apology shortcakes just around the recital time of year.

As she approached the kitchen doorway, she could see her mother instantly, stationed at the counter with a spoon mixing idly in one hand, while she read the back of a small box in the other hand. Holly had always been fascinated by her mother's ease in the kitchen — which had, of course, come with decades of working with food for a living — even though she'd come to resent it at some point. Now, she was less bitter about the past, and she could see the merits of her mother's lifestyle.

She was also old enough, now, to see the fatal flaws — for one, the lack of honesty.

"Hey," Holly said from the door.

Her mother looked up briefly, twitching a smile before returning to the box. "Hiya."

She hadn't been expecting a warm welcome, but she kept on anyway. "Cookies," she remarked as she stepped into the room at a slow pace. "Anything I can help with?"

Mom shook her head without making eye contact. "I think I'm good. Thank you."

The shutdown wasn't unexpected, although the courteous "thank-you" did throw Holly for a loop. Clearly, her mother wasn't very pleased with her, although she didn't know why. Keeping secrets from Holly, and then spilling _Holly's_ secrets to Michael, were apparently completely justifiable actions in her mind.

Holly took a deep breath, then, and let it out. This was just Mom being Mom. And Dad had told her that her mom wasn't mad at her, so that was already one problem out of the picture. All she had to do now was talk to the woman without losing it on her.

So in spite of being turned away, Holly seated herself at the counter, close enough to her mother that she could not be ignored anymore. She didn't speak at first, silently assessing the situation before she took one more big, deep breath, and gave it a shot.

"I know…" she began, hiding her strong discomfort at the subject, "that you don't _need_ help, you know. I recognize that you've been doing this for years, and you're good at it, and you're still capable of doing it alone. But sometimes, I'd like to help anyway."

Mom looked up at that, an eyebrow raised. "It's just cookies, Hol," she said smartly. "By all means, grab a spatula."

Holly shook her head. "I mean with Dad, Mom."

That got her attention, if not in a negative manner. Mom stopped mixing for a second, focusing intensely on the box in her hand, and mumbled, "I see. I thought we already talked about that."

"I'd like to talk about it more," Holly decided, and lowered her voice. "If that's okay."

Mom shrugged. "Go ahead. I'm listening."

Holly's eyebrows shot up at that kind of invitation; she had to pause to collect herself before jumping into what she'd been wanting to say all weekend. This open-mindedness was only going to last for so long. Holly had to take advantage of it.

"I've watched you all my life, Mom," she started without missing a beat, though she stopped to take a breath, to keep measured. She glanced down at her hands on the counter. "I've seen you do amazing things, with the restaurant, and taking care of me, and taking care of Dad… I never meant to imply that you aren't capable, of _anything_ , because you're the most capable person I've ever known. And I recognize that you can still do all that and some extra, but…"

Her mother stopped mixing the bowl for a moment, though she didn't meet Holly's eye. She just stared at the box of unsweetened chocolate, vacantly listening.

Holly bit her lip, feeling a great deal of pressure to close this up quickly. "But you don't have to, anymore. You deserve a… _vacation_ , from all the managing. I'd love for you to let me take on some of it, at least while I don't have kids or school to worry about." Lifting her eyes shyly, she added under her breath, "You know?"

"I know," Mom replied, rather quickly, and looked at Holly all at once. "I've always known that, ever since you first started visiting again, and I… I was the one who felt incompetent, because I'd just _lost him_ , when I've been trying so hard to prove to everyone that I'm _fine_."

"Accidents happen," Holly said, shrugging her shoulders. Then, gaze drifting toward the doorway to the den, she lowered her voice. "I don't think you're a bad caretaker. I just think keeping track of another adult is a lot for _anyone_ to handle alone."

"It is," her mother whispered as she leaned over the counter, hands coming to her forehead, "a lot. He's your dad, and your dad is a stubborn man. He thinks he can manage himself — he _wants_ to, but he just can't anymore."

Her words were sobering, and they both stopped talking after that. In the silence, Holly nervously listened to the TV running down the hall — thought about her dad — her once very-young, very-capable dad, who'd sat with her and watched shows and driven her to the library, and then took her for ice cream and helped her with her homework — now having diminished so much, and…

It was terrible to think about, and she really, really tried not to do it. But now she had, and she felt anxious, and sad; so she took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair, trying not to seem as upset as she felt. She also resisted the urge to text Michael and find out when he was coming home.

Something dropped down beside her head, then, and she lifted her head abruptly. Before her now sat a metal mixing bowl, with remnants of cookie dough stuck to the sides. Her eyes widened.

"Enjoy," Mom said over her shoulder as she stepped over to open the oven door.

Holly decided she might do just that, and grabbed a spoon.

While she eased the cookie sheets onto the oven racks, her mother was comfortably silent — until the door shut and she straightened up, a look of discomfort on her face. "Do you want to talk about whatever's going on with you and Michael?" Turning back to the counter, Mom reached for a dish towel and smirked. "Or should I mind mine?"

With this question came a strong warning of, " _Backtrack! Backtrack!"_ Because things had just gone well for the past few minutes, and Holly didn't want to tell her mother that, by the way, she was secretly pissed off about her betraying Holly's trust.

Her mom then leaned her elbows on the countertop, narrowing her eyes. "Should I take that as a 'yes'?"

Holly inhaled.

"He knows about A.J.," Holly said vaguely.

She could feel the surprise radiate off her mother. "Oh, wow… When did you tell him?"

"I didn't," Holly responded, a bit too quickly, "tell him, Mom. You did."

Mom wrinkled her forehead. "Me? When?"

"When you first met him!" she said, though she was swift to soften her tone. "And I didn't know he knew, because _I_ hadn't planned to tell him yet…"

"I never told him anything," Mom protested. "I may have called the guy a bastard, but I never _said_ anything."

Holly blinked at her, lips parted in a near-response, but she hesitated. "He said you did."

"He may have interpreted something like that. I just said something about hating the way he treated you."

"That's kind of a hint," Holly pointed out.

"Well, I'm sorry," Mom said right back — and although she was speedy, she did sound slightly genuine. "I wouldn't have ever intended to put you in that situation. And honestly, I assumed he knew anyway."

Without much of a response for that, Holly did at least understand what she meant. She lowered her eyes, then, down to the bowl below. Suddenly, she was both not-at-all hungry and craving sugar. She couldn't make up her mind.

"Honey," her mother eventually said, in a smooth voice. A hand landed on Holly's shoulder; she resisted the urge to look up. "You know that whole thing was nothing to be ashamed of. You left it in the past, and you're in a much better relationship now-"

"But I didn't leave it in the _past_ , Mom," Holly admitted, and dropped her hands from her face. "We lost the apartment because I freaked out. That's the only reason he even asked about it — because I messed up."

"You are too damn hard on yourself," Mom said, shaking her head at how ridiculous she obviously thought Holly was being. "You just got out of an abusive relationship not even six months ago and you're beating yourself up because you're not over it. You don't have to be perfect, you know.."

"You're one to talk," she replied pointedly, eyes a bit wide. She shrugged. "Is it so bad — to want to be a good fiancee? To want to be perfect? _He's_ perfect."

Mom choked a bit of a laugh and literally hid her face from view as she did it. " _Holly_."

" _What?_ What?"

" _He's-_ have you met him? He's a little…" her mother trailed off between giggles. Holly's brow furrowed, but Mom just kept laughing. When Holly didn't laugh, Mom's eyes widened. "Oh, come on!"

"He's not _a little_ anything," Holly said indignantly, and sat up. "He's kind, and he's honest, and he loves me more than anyone ever has. That's perfect to me."

Her mom didn't immediately fire anything back, though she still smiled — but her laughter died down a bit, and she took a breath. She blinked at Holly for a moment.

"He's a good guy," Mom agreed, lowering her head. "I can see how much you love each other, and it makes me happy, even if I don't say it much. You don't need to defend him from me."

Holly huffed a breath. "You tease him a lot."

And then Mom's smile went too, slowly. And her voice quieted.

"I'm serious, though," she addressed Holly as she blinked up at her. "You couldn't have picked anyone better, Hol, and you know I'll only shoot straight with you on this. I may not _get_ him all the time, but he makes you happy. I'm just relieved to see you _happy_ again."

At that, the air caught in Holly's throat — because her mom didn't usually talk like this, and she never gave Holly credit for anything. This was groundbreaking. This was never-before-seen footage of Mom: the Lifelong Movie.

"And you deserve it, honey."

Holly had momentarily fazed out, mind running a mile a minute, so she didn't quite register that. "What?"

Mom's expression had softened in a _very ultra-rare way_ as she reached across the counter for Holly's hand, covering it with her own. Their eyes locked intensely as her mother repeated, "You — deserve — happiness. You deserve a good relationship with someone who treats you right — someone who doesn't get mad every time things go wrong and doesn't let you give into your instinct to feel so damn _guilty_ about everything."

Her words filled the kitchen as her voice grew louder, and Holly had nothing to say. She watched her mother, gaze stiff and unwavering. She tried to think of something to say, but ultimately bit down on her lip, and surrendered. Mom simply relaxed her hand on Holly's, giving it a squeeze before pulling it back.

"You deserve this," she said finally, as she leaned back onto her feet. She half-smiled. "Okay?"

Holly nodded, her own smile popping up. "Okay," she whispered while continuing to nod. "Okay."

"Good," Mom decided, full-smile. Then she nodded toward the doorway. "Now go text him and tell him he's safe to come home."

That widened her smile, because somehow, her mom had known just what Michael was doing. But then, she was a smart woman, so Holly wasn't surprised at all.

* * *

 _ **The weird thing about Annie Flax was that in her creation, I was trying to make a middle-ground, not-perfect-not-shitty mother figure that could conflict with Holly while having a bearing on Holly's personality. I don't know how I feel about her - if I'd hate her or like her in real life - but I think she serves her purpose in the story, and that's satisfying to me.**_


	35. Magic Inside Your Fingertips

**Chapter XXXV**

 **Magic Inside Your Fingertips**

* * *

 _You've got magic inside your fingertips…_

 _It's leaking out all over my skin…_

 _Every time that I get close to you,_

 _You're making me weak..._

\- "Magic" by Colbie Caillat.

* * *

Michael had honestly never expected to be making out with his fiancee on the front porch in the middle of a neighborhood full of senior citizens, at eleven o'clock at night, in freezing Colorado weather — but life was full of surprises, and he was prepared to enjoy them to their greatest extent.

By that, he meant that in this moment of standing outdoors, Holly's lips on his and her hips flush against his and her hands fishing through her purse for the keys as they stood there, stalled outside a locked door, a pair of shallow breaths, Michael was not too shy to slip his hands down into her jeans and squeeze.

At that moment, Holly's search for the keys become much more clumsy.

Friday night had become the new date night, and this was the best decision they'd ever made — especially this week, when they couldn't seem to find any free time _at the same time_. That resulted in a _lot_ of pent-up energy, and the longer it took them to open the door, the closer Michael was to imploding from frustration.

He completely blamed Holly for that, too, because she'd come out tonight with a goal and she was succeeding. Her collar was low and her hair smelled amazing and her flirtatious whispering had made the night difficult in the first place, but now, she treated him mercilessly, kissing deep and biting at his lip, adding it to the overall throb throughout his veins. Her chest rose and fell erratic against his, and she still searched, with much struggle, for the jingling keys down in her bag.

Then she audibly dropped them back to the bottom of her purse, and her head dropped back as she emitted an anxious groan. Michael's breath hitched in his throat, while his hands drew her in tighter…

Finally, Holly retrieved the stupid keyring, sighing in relief. Michael did not let go of her as she twisted toward the door, and rushed to unlock it.

He heard the click, and shivers ran up his spine.

Once the door was open, Michael pulled her into the house behind him, maneuvering through the dark living room backward, with his eyes half-closed and his mind preoccupied as her hands were now free to do as they pleased — her purse dropping to the floor loudly, which worried him for an instant. The odds were good that her parents were asleep and would stay asleep, but one could never be too careful — especially when one was so close to having some mind-blowing sex.

Stumbling into the hallway, Holly guided him around the corner and toward _another_ set of stairs — and at this point, his legs were already weak, reserving all his energy in his hips and his lips at the moment. They stopped for a moment, Holly sighing into his mouth and lifting her chin to gain a better angle. He tugged her impatiently up the first few steps.

"-s is dangerous," Holly warned between breaths. "Let's just-"

But Michael didn't need to discuss it; he just hooked his arms under her legs and picked her right up, turning around toward the stairs. Holly jolted in surprise, but he caught a wide smile on her face as she looped her arms around his neck and resumed kissing him. Michael did not miss a beat as he started up the steps.

This was their third month of being here, and if they didn't get their own place soon, Michael was going to _die_.

It was slow-going at the first half of the staircase, but he finally hit the top of the stairs, and he didn't bother setting her down there, either. He carried her straight through to the guest bedroom and tried to be quiet as he shoved the door open.

He shut the door behind them, and then, all reservations were off. Michael let her down to the floor and closed all space between them, diving into her neck. Holly had already started at the buttons of her blouse — Michael reached the place below her ear…

" _Mi_ chael," she whispered hoarsely. Michael's body responded intensely to just that small word — and instantly, he opened his eyes, ready to do whatever it took to get her naked the fastest.

When he looked at her, though, with her lipstick smudged and her blouse open, her cheeks flushed pink, he decided that this look was pretty good, too. So he leaned into her again and backed her toward the bed.

Holly managed to get her shirt open before she landed in the sheets, and he kissed down her chest while his hands worked at her bra, his mind racing with the possibilities of the hours ahead of them. He'd actually been nervous about this since last weekend, when they'd hit a new level of _amazing_ , but now that they were here, the only thing on his mind…

" _Michael_."

He let out a noise through his nose, trying to keep quiet even though she kept saying his name in that damn _voice_ …

"Michael, do you hear that?"

He could barely understand her words at this point, as her bra dropped off the bed and his lips trailed down-

" _Honey._ "

"Hmm?" he hummed without stopping

"Waitt," Holly whispered, and he paused. He looked up to find she had a finger held up, and her eyes were aimed at the door. Michael kept silent, listening as well as he could through his rushing ears and pounding heartbeat…

He didn't hear anything, thank _god_ , so they were in the clear for-

 _Oh, no._

Female laughter resounded from down the hall, likely originating in the master bedroom. And the longer he listened, he could hear, along with her, a sitcom laugh track.

"She's awake," Holly muttered through quick, shallow breaths. Her expression fell instantaneously.

When the meaning of this hit him, Michael squeezed his eyes shut. His head fell. " _Damn_ it..."

Holly threw her head back into the pillows, letting out a huge sigh. "It's okay."

"It's not fair," Michael protested quietly, and forced himself to roll off her. His eyes foolishly glanced over at her, topless and flush and completely disheveled… "It's not _fair_. Why isn't she asleep?"

"I don't _know…_ "

"I can't do things to you if I know she's _listening_ ," Michael whined. "Why, God? Why have you forsaken me?"

Holly groaned. "What things? Tell me what things."

"You don't even wanna know what things."

"I know," she lamented, breaths still trembling as she stared up at the ceiling, purposefully avoiding looking at him. "Okay. Let's about something. Tell me about work."

"Work is work. I wanna _do_ you."

"Honey, you've gotta work with me, here."

"I wanna work _on_ you. That's what she said." Michael's eyes widened at himself, and he slapped his hands to his face. "Ugh, god…"

Blinking up at the ceiling, Holly asked, "How's the toaster girl?"

He stared vacantly as his body tried to readjust to this not-nearly-as-fun state, and muttered, "Is it weird to take care of your brother when he's twenty-eight years old?"

Holly hesitated to respond. "I mean, it's not common."

"Ginny said that," he said, relaxing his hands at his sides. "That she's taking care of her twenty-eight year old brother. What does that even mean?"

"He could be disabled," Holly reasoned, then added in a playfully suspicious tone, "Or maybe she meant to say she had twenty-eight _brothers_."

"Ooh," he said, eyebrows raised. "Intriguing. Maybe she's Catholic. Or part cat."

She then risked a lot by turning her head, and he glanced at her quickly enough to show he was listening without getting distracted by her exposed skin. "How old did you say she was?" she asked.

"Only twenty," Michael said with a sigh. Then his eyes wandered again; he inhaled sharply. "Can you…"

"Oh," Holly breathed, and pulled the sheets up over herself.. When she caught him staring, she added, "What about the passive-aggressive receptionist? What's he been up to?"

Michael shifted stiffly. "Nothing, really. Oh! Uh, people think he and Heather might get together, which seems like a terrible idea, but you know, whatever."

"Okay," she said, nodding slowly with eyes locked on the ceiling. "Did you… talk about it, when you guys went out?"

"Nah, not really. They talked about girl stuff. We talked about you. We looked at pictures of Heather's son."

"You talked about me?"

Michael lifted his head at that; Holly looked at him curiously. He then inched toward his side to face her. "Well, yeah, a little bit," he admitted. "Just… bragging, I guess. I hope that's okay."

Her eyebrows shot up, cheeks still flushed from kissing but looking rosier now. She rolled toward him with a smile. "Oh, so you brag on me? What about?"

He smiled. "A lot of things," he whispered, as his eyes roamed down her side, and back up. "Your smile. Your eyes. Your boobs."

Holly's eyes widened, turning bright pink. " _Michael_ …"

"What? They're good boobs!"

"Michael," she stopped him with a chuckle. "Anything else happen at work?"

Michael squinted at her in thought. "Nothing interesting." Then he propped himself up on his elbow and tilted his head. "Your turn. How's resourcing humans?"

Now he knew he'd caught her this time, because she never liked to talk about work, and avoided it whenever she could. But this time, he'd given her a lot of information, and she had to say _something_. He'd gotten her.

To disguise his trickery, he put on his most adorable smile, laying his head back on the pillow.

Holly half-smiled at him. "It's the job. No interesting drama that I'm aware of."

"How's your boss?" Michael asked, not letting the topic get away. "Still the _amuse-douche_?"

Her eyes widened, nodding. "Oh, yeah. He's driving me crazy, especially this week…"

He furrowed his brow. "What's he doing now?"

Apparently that question provoked a loaded answer; Holly sat up on her arm and exhaled deeply. "He's just… getting in my way, on _everything_. He slows down everything I run by him, asks me to do ridiculous things, to sit in on every meeting _except_ the ones I should be in, because that's when he decides to make me do more ridiculous things!"

Michael frowned, and reached out to set a hand on her arm, rubbing up and down. "I'm sorry, honey. That's sucks."

Her expression softened, and she reached up to touch his wrist. "And… I think David's getting everyone in our room to mess with me. They keep 'losing' my files and moving my things when I go to the bathroom." Lifting her head up higher, she added indignantly, "And I _swear_ , someone is dumping salt in my food before lunch."

He accidentally chuckled — and Holly's jaw dropped. Michael quickly composed himself. "Sorry, sorry. That's not funny. That's mean."

"It's okay," she said lightly. Her fingers wiggled around his forearm as she lowered her eyes in thought. She was silent for a moment.

Michael blinked at her, waiting for her to continue — but she didn't. His hand traveled down from her arm to the side of her waist, and he mumbled, "Have you talked to your boss about it recently?"

"Bill?" Holly questioned, eyebrows raised. "He doesn't listen. He says he'll 'deal with him, his way,' and then he doesn't. And every time I try to get him to take my concerns up the ladder, about the entire _environment_ of the office, he tells me to 'stay calm' and 'give people some time', and asks me if I'm going to be a 'problematic presence in this office'."

"What the- that's just, stupid," Michael protested. He pushed himself up a bit more, consequentially squeezing her hip — and he turned his eyes back on hers, seeing no evil, hearing no evil, and feeling up no evil. "That's ridiculous. That's not how a boss is supposed to act. He's like the dad of the office — the problem-solver who takes all the bad children and spanks 'em over his knee."

Holly scrunched up her nose. "Did your dad do that?"

He shook his head quickly. "Nah, I'm- no, I'm kidding. But you get my point."

"We're not spanking our kids."

"You're changing the subject," Michael shot back, squinting at her.

Holly still did not speak, expression straight.

So he quickly amended, "Of course, we're not spanking our kids. Continue your story."

"Because you know I'm against that," she insisted.

"I know. I know. _I,_ I don't think it's _that bad_ -"

"We're not doing it."

"Okay, okay," Michael said. "I agree. It's very bad. What… are you going to do about David?"

His hand slipped over her side, settling on her hip. Holly's shoulders relaxed and her eyes closed. "I don't know that I can do anything — not without making everyone hate me even more."

"That's just silly," Michael argued. "No one could ever hate you."

"A _lot_ of people could, and have, and currently do."

"Well, screw 'em," he said anyway, shrugging. "You are a hard-working, respectable woman and you deserve a peaceful workspace. You should go over his head."

Holly didn't even respond to that at first, except to open her mouth wide in disbelief. "I couldn't… _do_ that. He'd fire me, or make my job hell until I quit."

"You're already stressed out all the time because of it," Michael said. "And I don't like it when you're upset. Especially not because of some dick at your cubicle."

Her expression melted a bit at that, lips parting slightly, and her head dropped to one side, hair falling. "I should probably do something, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, you should." Tapping a line up her skin, he whispered, "Because you are a lovely, wonderful person, who deserves to be treated lovely-ly and wonderfully. And you know what that means?"

She bit her lip. "What?"

Then he leaned forward slowly, and whispered, "It means that I'm gonna make love to you."

Holly inhaled sharply as his hand slid down from her hip, pinning his arm over her; and she tried to contain her smile. "Michael…"

"And do you wanna know where I'm gonna start?"

"I can still hear the TV."

"I just don't think I care enough about that."

"Should I go sleep on the couch?" Holly asked through a grin.

Michael's expression soured, pouting as he looked her up and down.

"Nah," he said finally, head dropping to the pillows. "Just… let's turn the lights off."

"Good idea," Holly agreed, and chuckled to herself. Michael smiled at her and her cute face before turning back to cut the lights out.

Then Holly jumped across the bed and kissed Michael's cheek, just before the lights went off.

* * *

 _ **Happy new year - time to cringe at how poorly I wrote heterosexual sexuality.**_


	36. I've Got a War in My Mind

**Chapter XXXVI**

 **I've Got a War in My Mind**

* * *

 _Been trying hard not to get into trouble, but I_

 _I've got a war in my mind…_

\- "Ride" by Lana Del Rey.

* * *

Monday had been a fun day, because Holly had done the deed. She'd gone over her boss's head.

It had been a long weekend, full of mother-daughter bonding shopping trips which had drained the energy from her in a way that no other activity could. Friday through Sunday, she and Michael had been given maybe a few hours together before her dad had broken out the board games or her mom had found more Kohl's Cash — which _must be used today_ , and that sounded like an exaggeration. It was as if they were doing everything in their power to keep her and Michael from looking at apartments.

In fact, she had a feeling that was _exactly_ what they were doing. And they were good at it.

But between her mother's nagging and Michael's affirmations in her head, come Monday morning, Holly was convinced. So she came in to work early, typed up a formal, strongly-worded email to her superior's superior, and hit "send" before she could change her mind. Then she texted Michael, celebrating her victory.

Now that Tuesday had come, however, she wasn't feeling as victorious.

No one seemed to behave any differently toward her, negatively or positively, so Holly assumed that the email either hadn't been read yet, or hadn't been shared yet. Either way, she was strung up with nerves, and could barely get her work done without checking down the hall, to see if Bill would stop by. Surely, once he heard she'd rolled over on him, he'd rage…

"Hey, uh, Holly?"

The voice drew her out of her anxious thoughts, and she looked up at Colin Moore, who stood a few feet away with a stack of paper in his hands. She smiled briefly. "Hi, Colin. What do you need?"

He half-smiled, though his eyes spelled danger. "This morning, Bill asked me to give these to you," he said as he handed her the papers. She glanced over them, noticing an _extensive_ amount and variety of data related to inflated phone time. "He wants you to type them up in one document before sending them out to corporate."

Holly frowned, looking up at him. "Why didn't he just email me this?"

"He said he wanted you to do it this way," Colin explained thinly — and even his expression said that he saw through this excuse. "'Less copying-and-pasting, more creativity.' That's all he told me."

"That's-" she started, but stopped herself quickly. She'd already done all she needed to do; complaining would only make things worse. She sighed. "All right. Thank you."

"Sure thing," he said. He hesitated to walk away then, as she could see through her peripheral vision. Instinctively, she tugged her shirt collar up, and paid him no mind.

"And… one more thing?"

She looked up again. "Yes?"

Colin squinted uncomfortable, averting his eyes for a moment as he muttered, "I, uh, think you should eat out today."

Instantly, she knew what he meant, and she sighed again. "Good idea," she mumbled as she leaned onto her elbow. "Thank you… for the advice."

"No problem," he said over his shoulder, and headed toward the hallway.

Once he was out of view, Holly let her shoulders sink down around her, frustration aching at her temples. Of _course_ , Bill couldn't have emailed her a PDF — instead, he wanted her to spend this afternoon on something unnecessary, probably during some impromptu and very important meeting which he would love to hold without H.R.

And what had they put in her lunch this time? She was genuinely curious as to what they could do after hot sauce in her peanut butter and jelly and mustard in her pasta. Had they sprung for non-edible items?

She wasn't even going to pack anything tomorrow, if it had a one-in-three chance of being violated.

" _-you look over these for the end-of-week-"_

" _In a minute. Excuse me."_

Holly's hands froze on the keyboard at the sound of Bill's voice in the hallway, and growing louder. Her heart stopped.

" _Bill?"_

" _Not ri_ ght now," he insisted as he came even closer to the end of the hallway.

Instantly, Holly clicked open a new document and grabbed a metal clip, pinning the first page of the data to her screen, trying to pretend that she was one-hundred percent _on this task_ because it was one-hundred percent _important_ …

Then footsteps skidded at the end of the hallway, and Holly's shoulders tensed. She made a point of refusing to look up, forcing him to address her.

"Flax," Bill said, in a low, shiver-inducing tone. Still, Holly didn't lift her head.

"Can I help you?" she asked routinely. Then she began typing in hopes of deterring him from asking for anything.

"Come see me in my office. Now."

Hearing this, Holly's eyebrows shot up, and she stopped typing. Slowly, she raised her eyes toward the man — and he sent her one dark, brown-eyed look of distaste before turning back into the hallway.

The few of her coworkers who hadn't gone to lunch either hadn't noticed this scene, or had the decency to pretend they didn't.

Holly had a feeling that her email had gotten back to him.

As hesitant as she was to even move from her desk, she knew it would not be wise to keep him waiting, nor would she gain any courage just sitting here. And that was a shame, because she was _really_ anxious now.

She forced herself to her feet, appearing calm as she unpinned the paper from her desktop and closed out her document, in case she left early today. Her hands lingered on the desk, the instinct strong to stay, but she went on anyway, headfirst into the hallway. All the while, she ran through the reasons in her mind, one by one, like a list.

 _\- I'm a good H.R. worker and should be respected as the check and balance for management._

 _\- I'm the only woman in the office and a protected class; I could sue for discrimination and sexual harassment six times over by now._

 _\- I can't say that. I'm not actually going to sue anybody._

 _\- I mean, I_ _ **could**_ …

 _\- I'm spending way too much time with Mom._

Making a list wasn't going so well.

She passed the break room on her way to Bill's office, and through the doorway, she caught the eye of many of the men congregated there — including Colin, who looked confused, and David, way in the back of the room, with a smug expression on his face. Holly tried not to roll her eyes until she was out of eye-range.

And then, to her great displeasure, she'd arrived at the open door of her boss's office. She could already see a knee bouncing angrily under the desk inside. Her stomach did a flip.

She wasn't afraid of being fired in this moment, although that might have been a very real fear. She wasn't even afraid of being shot down or having her opinions shoved in a little box and tossed into the trash bins outside. But she'd heard stories about Bill's temper, and she was not about to stand in front of all her coworkers while her boss yelled at her. She would quit, right then and there.

"Come in, please."

Holly hadn't recognized how long she'd been standing away from the door, but obviously, Bill had noticed. She took a deep breath and made the full step toward the door, through the door — into the office.

Bill, seated angrily in his nice chair, one hand repeatedly turning a pen upside-down, clicking it, and turning it upside-down again, and clicking it. He said nothing yet, except to nod at the door, signaling her to shut it. But with no words, he had no trouble displaying how furious he was.

Once the door had latched, Holly had barely turned around before Bill muttered, "Take a seat."

Holly found the farthest seat from his desk and took a seat. She pursed her lips to keep from saying anything.

But Bill had evidently elected not to speak first, as he leaned back in his chair and studied her silently, turning from side to side, just a few inches back and forth… clicking and unclicking and clicking and unclicking his pen. Still, she did not speak.

As she looked around, she didn't find the usual reflection of Google Pac-man on the window behind him — instead, a white page with tiny words, which, as she squinted more, looked a lot like her email.

She swallowed, but still, did not speak.

When a full minute at the least had passed, Bill seemed surprised to remain in silence, and finally asked, "You're not curious about why I asked you in here?"

"I am," Holly said calmly, without probing him for more.

"You probably already know," Bill said, shrugging his shoulders.

"I can't think of anything I've done _incorrectly_ ," Holly specified. She could play this game, too.

At that, Bill hesitated for a moment, before letting out a belabored sigh. He lowered his head. "Holly," he said, using her first name for a change, "you've had a lot of feelings that you've shared with me, and really, I've been trying to listen and to take them to heart."

She bit her tongue hard.

"But to go behind my back?" Bill continued incredulously. "Really? Is that the kind of work environment you want us to have here, Holly? Where we go behind each other's backs and tattle at corporate instead of working out our issues like _adults_?"

"I think-"

"Because that's certainly not what _I_ want," he went on, now using his hands quite expressively. "I mean, _I_ want this office to be full of people who treat each other with respect. I think that's what you want, too."

Holly's shoulders tensed, but she nodded. "I do want that… and I think that following the rules of the workplace would be a great step in that direction."

"Rules are rules," Bill dismissed. "They're building blocks, yes, but without unity, the whole thing falls apart. It's like when I play Legos with my son, right? You can put a lot of different blocks with different shapes and colors together and make a tower, but it works a lot better when they're all from the same set."

Her eyebrows shot up with such speed that she hadn't even felt it — and then furrowed. "Different sets," Holly echoed, nodding slowly. "Am I supposed to take that the way it sounds?"

Bill's eyes widened. "How did it sound? _Oh_ , no, no, no, no. I'm not- I'm not sexist, okay? Let me get that right off the bat," he clarified with wide hand gestures. "I am very respectful of women. My mother is one of my greatest role models, and my wife… Women are _great_. I'm not talking about women."

Holly bit back a lot of words and also her lip.

"I'm just saying," he tried to continue, "that we have something here that works, and it seems like, if you're finding it this hard to fit in, maybe this isn't the place for you."

"But it doesn't work," Holly argued as gently as possible. "There are rules being broken left and right, protocol ignored and time wasted and money lost where it doesn't need to be lost. And, have you noticed that every single one of your female employees that you've hired in the last three quarters have quit within the month? I mean, this is a _hostile_ work environment..."

"Come on, hey. Let's not make this about gender."

"… whether it's intended or not. _Bill,_ " she said without stopping for him. "I was justified in what I wrote in that email. I have been treated poorly and without even an ounce of respect since I was hired. I haven't been allowed to do my job as a representative of the Department of Human Resources, which is a _fundamental part_ of keeping a healthy work environment. You can't tell me this is healthy."

"I think you have a different perspective than I do," Bill interrupted, head tilted in subtle disagreement. "I mean, you come from a different part of the country, and a very different kind of company than your last workplace. People here aren't as… personally tied to their work, you could say. We check our emotions at the door, and we do what we're supposed to do."

Holly's jaw dropped, and she straightened up. "Let me be clear when I say, this is _not_ a matter of my emotions."

"You seem a bit fired up to me," Bill argued flippantly.

"I am... upset, but-"

"So maybe we take a step back, reevaluate, and come back to this another day," he finished, rising up from his chair. "You don't bother corporate again, and I keep my eyes open over the next little bit, and if I find that you're right-"

"We've been reevaluating for weeks now," she cut him off, standing up. "I sent that email because I'm at the end of my rope. If nothing changes-"

"Then quit, Holly."

Her sentenced caught in her throat, as Bill stared her down. Her eyes widened. " _Excuse me?_ "

"If you're gonna keep creating conflict and destroying my office, you can just pack your things," Bill offered. "I don't have the time or energy for drama, so if it's causing you this much heartache, do yourself the favor and just... give your notice."

As surprising as that statement was, she did find herself both infuriated and very, _very_ tempted to take him up on it. She was tired of the lack of respect and the stress and all the people here, with their disgusting work ethic and their staring and their _hot sauce_ , and…

But to have gone through all this, not to sue and not to get her reports to anyone, and not even to receive _severance_ , was just despicable.

"No," Holly said, after great consideration. "No, thank you. I won't quit. If you want me gone, you're going to have to fire me."

That was apparently the last thing he'd been expecting, as Bill's expression fell, and that anger slowly returned. "Wow," he said, sounding genuinely amazed. "You're really gonna keep at this?"

"Yes, I am," Holly said firmly.

"Because if you think something's going to change," Bill continued, "I don't foresee that happening. I won't be giving any more talks."

"I'm sure you won't."

He raised an eyebrow. "And I don't think anyone would side with you in a legal conflict - no one here, at least."

Holly pressed her lips into a polite smile. "I'm sure they won't."

Bill did not have much to say to that, his jaw stiff, his hand empty with the pen clicking and unclicking through his fingertips, his eyes staring through her skull. The pause was long and uncomfortable, and maybe that was his intention — but she did not say a word. She didn't even ask to be dismissed.

Finally, he glanced at the door behind her and mumbled, "You can leave."

Holly turned away, glad to let herself out of the lions' den.

She was feeling particularly proud of herself, walking in victory out of her boss's office and shutting the door behind her a bit loudly — and she was startled to find that David, and Colin, and even Chest-Ogling Rhett stood outside with a few others she barely recognized, all of which had likely come out of lunch to realize she was getting railed by the boss. They were all gathered around one desk, blatantly watching her as she exited with the most rapt attention, and a hint of humor on their faces. Holly pretended not to notice them as she walked back toward the hallway, headed for her cube all the way at the back.

She could almost feel their collective wondering, of whether or not she was fired. She would let them wonder for a while during her lunch break.

By the time she'd reached her desk, the shock of the whole thing was beginning to wear off, as she realized just what she'd said and just what she'd _done_. That was so unlike her. She was one to keep the peace, and certainly not to rock the boat, and _certainly_ certainly not with a superior, and certainly certainly _certainly_ not when she was on the brink of losing her job, and possibly their ability to find an apartment, all in one fell swoop.

But she'd stood up for herself, despite the gamble.

Now, and she wasn't sure why, Holly really wanted to hole up somewhere and cry.

So she grabbed her purse and her phone and left her desk just as it was, and even though it would be a longer walk to her car, she went for the stairs instead of the elevator. She avoided all stares from her coworkers and quickly through the door open, letting herself be shut in the stairwell, alone.

Then she covered her face with her hands and inhaled deeply, and leaned back against the wall of the stairwell. With a lump in her throat and a tremble in her fingers, she already knew what was coming.

She just tried to keep the tears to a minimum.

After a few minutes of detoxing the anxiety, she sniffed, and uncovered her face, pulling the hair out of her eyes before letting out a bit, long sigh. She didn't know if it was embarrassment or nerves or nearly losing her job or Bill's familiar way of reducing her to an emotional child which caused her such a strong reaction, but she felt completely drained, so that she didn't even want to go get lunch in front of people.

Without thinking, and without having to look, Holly hit speed-dial number one and brought it up to her ear.

It rang for a little while — in the meantime, she took those first few steps away from her floor, in case anyone would hear. She didn't mean to bother him during his lunch, but she really needed to hear his voice right now.

" _Hola?"_

Instantly, she stopped walking, inhaling deeply. "Hey, honey."

" _Excusa me? No habla ingles. Espanol, por favor."_

Holly half-smiled, but whispered into the phone, "Ingles, por favor. I just stood up to my boss."

Michael took a breath, as if to continue with his Hispanic conversation, but stopped.

She started back down the stairs with a sniff. "Michael?"

" _Congratulations,"_ he replied with a delay, though he didn't sound too excited. " _What did he say? Are you okay? Did he fire you?"_

"He didn't fire me."

" _Are you okay?"_

Holly almost said "yes," but her breath caught. She lingered at the last few steps on the ground floor, sniffing again.

"It was really hard," she admitted, voice hitching. "But I think I'm okay."

The line was silent for a long few seconds, but Michael's voice was smiling as he replied, " _I knew you could do it, honey. I'm so proud of you."_

She grinned, and sniffed. "I love you."

" _I love you, too. Or as the Spanish say, 'Te amo, mi corazon.'"_

Her grin widened, and she whispered back, " _Te amo_."

" _Language of love,"_ Michael said happily.

Holly chuckled. "That's French."

" _Well, there's five, so I'm sure Spanish is one of them."_

* * *

 _ **Thanks for the continued reviews and support. I forgot how fckn long this story was...**_


	37. A Little Love Letter

**Chapter XXXVII**

 **A Little Love Letter**

* * *

 _You're a red string,_

 _Tied to my finger,_

 _A little love letter I carry with me._

\- "Tip of My Tongue" by The Civil Wars.

* * *

" _Michael Scott, front and center!"_

" _Michael, come eat with us!"_

"In a minute!" Michael called back into the hallway while spinning his chair slowly, eyes stuck down on his phone. "I'm finishing up some work!"

From down the hall, Heather made a noise of mock-annoyance, while Ginny left it at that.

Wednesday had made a light day for everyone at the office, but _especially_ for Michael. Ginny had been strangely on top of things and Zach strangely _not_ , leaving him lots of space to work hard and get a head start on the weekend's reports.

Of course, he didn't really do that. That would be a waste of a good Wednesday. Instead, he'd played a few games, counted all the black and red and white cars in the parking lot outside his window, and come lunchtime, received a cute text from a cute blonde, which had now spiraled into a whole conversation.

His phone buzzed, and he looked down to find another text:

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Wait so how about: Courage the Cowardly Dog vs Scooby Doo…_

Michael smiled, and replied:

 _ **You:**_

 _scooby always!_

 _ **You:**_

 _beethoven versus clifford?_

He didn't know how they'd gotten on the subject of pitting fictional dogs against each other, but things were heating up now that they'd gotten Underdog and Doug from _Up_ out of the way…

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _I think that one's obvious._

 _ **You:**_

 _clifford_

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Clifford._

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Mind reader!_

Michael chuckled, by now smiling like an idiot.

 _ **You:**_

 _I AM a mind reader. give me your palm — i will tell you your future…_

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _*gives you my hand*_

 _ **You:**_

 _GAH! take it away!_

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Oh god what_

 _ **You:**_

 _it's too bright! my eyes!_

" _Working_ , huh?"

Michael jolted, bringing his spinning chair to an abrupt halt at the sound of Heather's disapproval. He turned back around, to find Heather standing in the doorway with a sarcastic expression on her face. His eyebrows shot up.

"I'm coming," he said as he glanced down at the phone. Holly was typing. "Gimme just a minute."

"That's a goofy grin," Heather pointed out. "Must be texting your _fiancee_."

Hearing this from down the hall, Ginny called out, " _Oh, his_ _ **fiancee**_ _."_

"Hopelessly romantic man is hopelessly romantic," Heather added teasingly as she leaned against the wall. "I should apply at The Onion."

Michael tried to hide his smile at that, and shrugged his shoulders. Heather's mock-irritation vanished when she winked at him; and he smiled a bit wider.

Then his phone vibrated.

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Oh smooth ;)_

And the heat came to his cheeks as he responded:

 _ **You:**_

 _I can be rough too… *wink wink wink*_

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Don't get me hot._

 _ **You:**_

 _SEX_

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _So hot._

"That's it, all right," Heather interrupted, now much closer and spinning Michael's chair back toward her. He looked up from the screen with a small smile, which he could not wipe off his face, and raised his eyebrows.

"Yes?" he asked, having forgotten what they were discussing.

"Come eat!" she insisted. "You can text _your fiancee_ at the table."

"Oh, do I have your permission?" Michael questioned smartly, though he was already on his feet. Heather barely looked back at him as she headed for the door, and sent him a seemingly-mock glare while motioning for him to follow her. He dropped his phone in his pocket, and followed her out.

For the past few days, he and Holly had been talking more during lunch, mainly because she had to go out to eat and so she'd have no one to keep her company. And Michael, having already made a few friends at _his_ new job, felt bad for her. Her coworkers were so sucky.

He tried to tell her it was because she needed to become a teacher _now_ , but she didn't go for that.

Up ahead, Heather stopped at the break room, where Ginny sat on her phone. "I finally tore him away," Heather announced, sounding proud of herself. She dropped to her usual seat, with empty chairs on either side. "Too busy sexting."

"We aren't _sexting_ ," Michael clarified as he approached the table, going around to the refrigerator. He opened it up and bent down to peek inside — and he might have forgotten both what he'd packed and where he'd put it, but he had faith he would find it.

"Then why do you keep smiling like that?"

Michael retracted his head from the fridge to look back at her indignantly. "I'm not smiling."

Heather simply chewed her food in silence, studying his face for a moment. After a moment, she made a little huff through her nose, a grin pressing on her upper lip. She looked down at her food smugly. "Aw."

"Aw, what?" Michael asked before turning back to the fridge. Finally, he spotted his lunch bag, all squished down behind someone else's. He pulled it out.

In a small voice, Heather crooned, "You're _in love_. It's cute."

He straightened up, ready to argue that he was _not_ cute — but then his phone buzzed in his pocket, and excitement came over him. He forced the smile to go away.

"Aww," Ginny said, in that same exact voice — the voice every woman was programmed to use when they saw a puppy or a baby or something too insanely _adorable_. "I ship it."

"I envy it," Heather remarked, as Michael pulled out the chair beside her and took a seat.

"Okay, okay, okay," he said, waving his hand at them. "Yes, I am in love. I also may be cute, if you think so. I am a little cute. I mean, she's cute, and I'm cute, which makes us a cute couple. But _I won't rub it in_ ," Michael insisted. "I, as a happily-engaged man, am still sensitive to the lonely single life. I lived it many times. So I won't talk about it anymore."

"But I'm living vicariously through you, you see," Heather protested with a groan. "Tell me about your true love. Tell me about your sexting. Give me _something_."

"How are things going with her now?" Ginny asked, calmly joining in on the pestering. "With the whole… fight, and everything."

"Ooh, yes," Heather agreed, nodding widely. "Tell us."

Finally, Michael sighed, and gave in. "Well, we talked about it, weekend before last. It was kind of unexpected, but uh, I brought it up, and she got mad… and then we talked, and we kinda bonded over it. I mean, I was in a pretty similar spot a while ago, so we just… talked it out," he finished. Then, looking at Heather, he added, "And we did other stuff."

Heather seemed surprised, but offered her hand for smacking. "Nice."

Michael high-fived her.

Ginny, meanwhile, smiled quietly. "That's really great," she said, nodding. "I'm happy for you."

His expression softened slightly. "Thank you, Ginny. You are quite the sweetheart." Raising his eyebrows, he added, "The office sweetheart. That's your title."

Ginny just shrugged, hiding her grin.

Then Heather added, "So when's the big move?"

That was something he hadn't thought about in a few days. Holly had been really eager to go apartment-shopping again last weekend; he could tell she felt really guilty about the whole thing with the last apartment, so she was jumping at every opportunity to find another one. Also, she was getting sick of her parents.

"Uh, well, that has yet to be determined," Michael finally said, as he took a big bite out of his sandwich. With a full mouth he added, "We kinda lost the apartment."

Oswald suddenly looked up from his phone, seeming interested. Beside him, Ginny frowned. Beside _her_ , Heather's brow furrowed. "Oh, that stinks. What happened?" she asked.

Michael shook his head. "We just weren't fast enough. And now, it's looking like we might not be able to get one in the next little bit, because she's probably about to lose her job."

"Damn," Heather said. "What happened?"

"Her boss is an ass," he reasoned simply, shrugging. "And they hate each other — and they're kinda in this standoff now, because she won't quit, but he won't fire her and give her severance — but she thinks she at least deserves severance for all that she's been through, so…"

Heather groaned, and Michael's voice trailed off.

"Bosses can be the worst," she complained, leaning back in her chair as she blinked up at the ceiling. "I had a boss when I worked at the bank downtown, and he was always riding me about presenting a 'sunny disposition' to the customer. When you have a kid in the Terrible Twos and you're not sleeping more than three hours a night, you come talk to me about your 'sunny disposition,' asshat."

"Yeah," Michael mumbled in mindless agreement. He sighed quietly, looking up at the two of them, and added, "I keep waiting for her to text me and say she quit, or she got fired — either way, I don't care. I just want it out of the way."

"She should just quit," Ginny advised as she crinkled up her wrapper. "It's not worth the struggle."

Heather shook her head passionately. "It damn well is. She needs to make a point to the man."

"But is it really gonna make a difference?"

Heather shrugged. "It might. Besides, money is money, and I'd hang onto severance before I'd…"

Suddenly, Heather's voice trailed off, replaced by a large groaning noise. Michael looked back at her, and followed her eyes toward the hallway — and there, Zach approached with a paper bag in hand, some kind of smirk on his face.

"Hey, Zach," Ginny greeted him as he reached the table.

"Hiya, Ginny," Zach said in response, and sent a little look at Heather before adding, "Mind if I sit here?"

She leaned over on her hand, head tilted to glare at him pointedly. "There are other tables."

"And yet," he said, "you own none of them."

Heather rolled her eyes. "Ooh, you got me! Go sit somewhere else."

"I have the right to sit where I want," Zach shot back without eye contact as he pulled his chair out. "And you have the right to get over it."

"You _never_ want to sit with us," Heather protested, sitting up straight. "Why now?"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging. "Maybe just to bug you."

Michael then caught Ginny's eye in passing, and inhaled deeply, raising his eyebrows at her. She seemed to be fighting a smile, shooting her eyes toward Heather, and then toward Zach. Then she winked.

Maybe Ginny was onto something.

"-then don't _look_ at me!"

"I'm not even looking at you."

Then he got another text, to his surprise. He sat up straight to pull his phone out of his pocket, and turned it on.

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _I'm heading back to work. Love you 3_

Michael grinned to himself, and replied:

 _ **You:**_

 _love you more :* I wish you lots of luck!_

After a moment, Holly answered:

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _I'm gonna need it._

* * *

 _ **What the fuck was I talking about this whole chapter**_


	38. I've Fallen From Grace

**Chapter XXXVIII**

 **I've Fallen From Grace**

* * *

 _Now I've fallen from grace,_

 _Took a blow to my face._

 _I've loved and I've lost;_

 _I've loved, and I've lost._

\- "Explosions" by Ellie Goulding.

* * *

" _So I've got Tostitos, Doritos, Cheetos, and Goldfish from Michael. Do you want any chips?"_

"Can I just text you a list, instead?" Holly asked as she balanced the phone between her ear and her shoulder, pulling her bag up over her shoulder. She was late back from lunch — not that she was trying to earn any gold stars anymore. "I'm going back to work."

" _We're almost done,"_ Mom insisted over the background noise, including a shopping cart rolling with a squeaky wheel and a voice saying something unintelligible over the P.A. " _I'm about to leave the aisle. No chips at all?"_

Holly shrugged, and elbowed the elevator button. "Pretzels?"

Her mom was quiet for a moment. The elevator dinged loudly as the doors shut; Holly leaned back against the wall with a sigh, feeling the tension rising up in her shoulders again. She closed her eyes, shutting out the world for a moment.

She wasn't ready go back. There were only a few hours left in the work week, and then came the sweet freedom of the weekend — but she didn't have the energy for even that.

" _I see the tied-up kind, the stick kind, and the knotted kind. Which kind do you want?"_

"I like sticks," she replied mindlessly. Her eyebrows shot up. "That's what she… That's what I want."

Mom hummed her response.

She'd asked Michael if he thought she should quit, but he just told her to do what made her happy. He seemed proud of her for taking a stand against her boss, but at the same time, she was tired. She just wanted him to fire her already. But it was all bluffing right now.

The elevator doors opened, and Holly sighed deeply. "Mom, I have to go now," she whispered.

" _Wait, wait, wait! Do you want any jam?"_

Holly wrinkled her forehead, stepping out into the floor of her office. "Grape," she decided. She walked ahead to the back of the floor and ignored the usual eyes on her — down the hall, she could hear uproarious laughter emanating from the break room. She sighed again. "Anything else?"

" _Do you still like chocolate milk?"_

Eyes were on her as she passed the break room, turning into her room. "I… do? I don't need it, Mom. Let me text you a list."

" _I was just asking. Any kind of juice?"_

Holly sat down at her chair. She found herself nearly alone in her cube, which was a relief, because her Mom obviously wasn't going to let her go just yet. "You can get that cranberry-pomegranate stuff."

" _Eh, no one else likes that stuff."_

She chuckled, wiggling her mouse around. "Then don't get it, Mom." Once her computer screen came on, she remembered she had to turn in her data tables today. She glanced around, pulling the drawers of her desk out…

" _No, you want it. I'll get it."_

Holly had to smile at that. The closer she and Michael reached to moving out, the harder Mom tried to pamper them — and as nice as it was, they were still moving. They planned to visit a few more places tomorrow, and hopefully, find the apartment of their dreams so they could…

Holly froze, eyes widening.

" _There's a sale for Welch's! Any other kind of juice you or Michael would drink?"_

"I need to go, Mom," Holly said, without any room for argument. She gingerly pushed her desk drawer back to a close.

" _Can you answer my question?"_

Holly hung up, because this was just a little bit bigger than a sale on _Welch's_.

If she had seen correctly in her _very brief_ peeking, and if she had smelled correctly, and if her stomach was correctly turning on its end, there was a dead mouse in her desk.

She swallowed hard, inching her chair away. She bit hard on her lip to keep from screaming. She pushed her breath out forcefully.

 _There's a mouse in my desk. There is a_ _ **mouse**_ _in my desk. There's a mouse in my…_

Someone had put a dead mouse in her _desk_.

Another wave of wild laughter erupted down the hall.

Holly scowled.

And she would have tried to do her yoga breaths, and to count to twenty — because ten just wouldn't have been enough — and to think this through and to control her anger, because that was the kind of person she prided herself on being. She was Holly Flax, the kind, patient, forgiving person who assumed the best in people and _never_ sought out a disagreement…

She was also Holly Flax, the kind, patient, forgiving person who had put herself through a year of these sorts of mean, shitty jokes and blatant bullying, because she had convinced herself it was worth it.

And she did not pride herself on that.

So Holly Flax got up from her desk chair, hands pressed into fists and lips pursed, shoulders tenser than ever, and shoved her chair up to her desk. She then made a beeline for the ridiculous time theft that was taking place in the kitchen, fire burning in her eyes and nerves collecting in her throat; she stomped past Colin, who nearly ran into her in the hallway.

"Hey, Holly, I wanted to ask you-"

"Hold on," she said unapologetically as she rounded the corner, finding herself in front of the break room. There, the most obnoxious of her coworkers were all corralled just for her, which was perfect.

It was perfect until they saw her in the doorway, and burst out laughing. Holly's mouth twitched.

"What the _hell_ is the matter with you people?" she snapped, toward no particular person. They just laughed harder.

"You didn't like your gift?" asked some asshole she barely recognized, while his buddy cracked up against the fridge.

"How _dare_ you?" Holly said incredulously, stepping into the room. "Honestly, I am just… amazed, at how disgusting a few people can act toward a coworker."

"Hey, it's just a joke-"

"I don't get it! I've never done anything to _any_ of you! Why can't you just-"

"Ooh, lecture us."

"Break out the binder," came from her cube-mate, the ogler.

"I am just doing my job," she shouted, fighting back tears. "I don't know what I did _wrong_."

"What's going on?"

The laughter settled down slightly at the sound of Bill's voice. Holly froze, head inching around to look at her boss, who stood in the doorway just feet behind her. Despite his question, there was a look of knowing in his eyes — as if he'd already been in on it. When he met Holly's eyes, it became clear.

"There's a dead mouse in my desk," she said finally. No one said anything to confirm or deny the statement. " _Please_ tell me you'll do something about this. Even you know this is over the line."

Bill just blinked at her, at first saying nothing as his gaze swept from her face to the others behind her, and then back to her. "I understand your frustration, Holly, but come on. Let's lighten the mood a little," he suggested.

Holly hesitated to respond, registering his words fully for a moment. "What?"

He didn't even seem to be kidding — he cracked a smile. "It's just a little hazing. We like to have fun around here — that's all. If you can't handle that..."

And she didn't know what she'd expected, since Bill had spent the past few days doing _anything_ he could do to provoke her into quitting… but maybe she'd thought there would be some human compassion, somewhere in this _damn office_ …

She swallowed, turning back to those behind her, and all their snickering, and all their smugness as they watched. She was powerless against that.

And she didn't deserve it. And she didn't have to take it.

So she looked back at Bill, and took a deep breath.

"I quit."

As soon as it was out, Bill's eyes lit up — in such a small way that she couldn't determine if it was in her head, or if it was really there… but he seemed genuinely, completely pleased with himself. She couldn't believe it.

Holly then held her head up, and stepped around Bill, out of the room.

* * *

 _ **I think this storyline served two functions: to force Holly to stand up for herself, and to show the difference between Michael's problematic office environment and a genuinely toxic environment. Idk anyway enjoy.**_


	39. Letting Go of the Things I Had

**Chapter XXXIX**

 **Letting Go of the Things I Had**

* * *

 _I'm taking one step forward,_

 _And three steps back._

 _I kick myself for letting go of the things I had._

\- "Simple Life" by Casey Abrams.

* * *

" _You know what_ _ **I**_ _think you should do."_

"I think I have an idea," Holly remarked under her breath, her upside-down face turning up in an amused expression. Michael made a goofy face at her; she then pinched her ears and puffed out her cheeks, making a monkey face in response. His eyebrows shot up, pleased.

" _You should sue!"_ Annie's voice came in from the kitchen, over the noise of clinking dishes. Holly huffed air through her nose.

Michael chuckled as he reached out to draw her closer to his chest, hands wandering under her shirt to rest on her stomach. She contentedly scooted back toward him and rested her head back on his shoulder.

" _Did you hear what I said, Hol?"_

"I heard you," Holly assured her loudly, shaking her head in disbelief. "I don't want to sue anyone."

" _Why not?"_

Michael winked down at her — not even trying to hide his complete amusement at this. Holly narrowed her eyes at him, but pressed a kiss to his chin.

He hadn't told her yet, but Michael was really happy that she had quit. He didn't see any point in working somewhere where no one appreciated her and she didn't have fun. An office was supposed to be a team, a _family_ , and those guys were _not_ treating her like family.

His new office wasn't a family yet, but he hoped it would get there. After all, he had some friends, and he had some enemies, and there was some budding romance going on — if one of them didn't wind up in prison first — and even if it wasn't the same as Scranton — not even _close_ — he could see a future. Holly needed a place like that.

" _I mean, for god's sake, it's a dead animal!"_ Annie continued anyway. " _You could have gotten diseases. And they admitted to it!"_

Michael opened his mouth to respond to her, but Holly lifted a hand up, setting her fingers on his mouth. "Just let her go," she whispered with an adorable grin. When he met her eyes, she winked at him.

So he followed her advice and craned his neck down to kiss her lips.

" _Add that to the discrimination and gross non-compliance with H.R. policy, and you could make thousands of dollars…"_

Holly sighed peacefully. Michael snuggled her up closer to him, straightening up against the arm of the couch — and he could feel her shoulders melting against his chest. He smiled.

Tonight was game night, so maybe, if her parents got tired and went to bed, they'd have some time to themselves. Until then, he was okay with this — cuddling, kissing, doing the affectionate "couple things" he still couldn't get used to doing. He couldn't _imagine_ how life would look when they had a place of their own…

" _And the_ _ **harassment**_ — _that doesn't fly in the workplace anymore."_

Holly then broke the kiss, and exhaled. He opened his eyes to find a playful look of hopelessness on her face, glancing toward the kitchen.

" _That's where the most money is, and trust me, the judge would have no trouble believing it from the only woman in her whole office. Christ, they've set the whole thing up perfectly."_

"I'm not suing, Mom," Holly repeated herself. Michael meanwhile began to run his fingertips up and down her ribcage in a tickling manner, which put a smile on her face.

Annie hesitated to respond, the sound in the kitchen pausing for a moment. " _Honey, you didn't even get a severance. You're seriously going to walk away from this with_ _ **nothing**_ _?"_

"That's the plan," Holly confirmed, pressing her lips tightly together. In a lower voice, she added to Michael, "She doesn't understand how to _let things go_."

His fingers continued their trek over her ribs; and although he'd only been half-listening, he did reply, "Well, maybe she's right. You should get _something_ for pain and suffering."

" _There ya go!"_ Annie cheered. " _And it could help pay for the wedding."_

Holly wrinkled her eyebrows at the both of them. "There was no pain and suffering. There weren't any diseases, either. And I'm not looking to pay for my _wedding_ with Bill's money," she finished, with a hint of bitterness at that. Michael's eyebrows rose.

For a moment, nothing was said.

" _Fine,"_ Annie relented, finally. " _It's up to you."_

She seemed appreciative of that, but still, being bugged about it had obviously bothered her. Still, she sent him a lopsided smile — and he smiled back.

"Hey," Michael said, tilting his head at her. She looked up, gaze bouncing between each of his eyes fondly; and he felt his lungs deflate under her blue-eyed stare. He had to remind himself to take a breath.

"Hey," she eventually replied softly, and her lips just barely brushed against his chin.

Forcing himself to focus, he asked, "You okay?"

Holly blinked silently, smile drifting slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You know," he said with a shrug. "About your job. I know they were being mean to you, and I just… wanted to make sure you're feeling okay."

At that, her face relaxed, and she even offered a little smile. "I'm okay," she assured him. Her palms flattened on the back of his hands, warmly pressing them down to her skin. She shrugged. "A little disappointed."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

Her eyes wandered up to the ceiling, silent for a moment. In the lull, the refrigerator door audibly swung shut, and silverware clanged with the open and shut of the drawer. Michael watched her as he waited.

"I don't know," Holly admitted quietly as she scooted up closer to him. She checked over his head at the kitchen before meeting his eyes again. "It… makes me sad, you know? I mean, I already lost the apartment, and now I lost my job, which is gonna make it that much harder to _find_ an apartment…"

"We'll find one," Michael mumbled, nodding his head. His hands slid up to her midriff and settled there. "Don't worry. We will."

"I know we will eventually, but-"

" _Do either of you want ice cream?"_ Annie interrupted. Holly took a deep breath, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

Michael smiled, and leaned his head back to call, "Yes, please!"

Once that was finished, Holly continued quietly, "But I want it to be _soon_. I want to start our life together, but it's like I keep setting us back."

"Setting us back?" Michael clarified, brow half-furrowed. "Honey, we're already starting our life together."

"I know," she said, biting her lip. "But I want to get married, and start a family, and maybe I'm getting ahead of myself here-"

" _Chocolate syrup or caramel?"_

Holly abruptly turned her head and replied, "Chocolate!"

" _Okay!"_ Annie shot back, sounding offended. " _You don't have to snap."_

Holly squeezed her eyes shut, sighing.

Sensing her stress, Michael began his ministrations again, this time a bit faster. He kissed her head, and she lay back down.

"I love you," he reminded her. "Merry mush."

She smiled, and whispered back, "I love you merry mush."

"And that's all gonna happen," he continued. When he heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, he lowered his voice before adding, "Patience, young grasshopper."

"Okay," Annie announced as she entered the living room; Michael looked over his shoulder to see her holding two bowls of ice cream, with two cherries each. She came around the couch and set them down on the coffee table in front of them. Looking up as she wiped her hands on her pants, she added, "I'm gonna go get your father and we'll start."

Then she headed through the room, and down into the hallway.

Once she was on her way upstairs, Holly exhaled softly on his neck, which sent shivers up his spine. "I guess this is nice in the meantime," she whispered.

"Yeah," he agreed, rubbing half-circles beneath her chest and around to her sides, mindlessly…

Suddenly, Holly jumped up a little bit, half-sitting up. Michael froze, watching as she turned to look back at him — and saw her smiling. "What?" he asked, fighting a grin.

"That tickles," she said quietly, sounding defensive.

Michael's eyebrows rose slowly, and his hands inched back up her ribs. "Oh, really?" he asked in a deep, deep voice. Maybe it sounded like a threat… but maybe it was.

Holly's eyes lit up in realization of what she'd done, and she swallowed. "Yes…"

"Well, you know what I have to do now," Michael warned.

She bit her lip, shaking her head. "No… Michael, n-"

The tickling ensued; Michael's fingers assaulted her ribs and up the sides of her chest, trapped underneath her shirt so that she could not feasibly get away, though she tried — and she _burst_ into laughter, whole body jolting toward the edge of the couch and elbows instinctively jabbing into his stomach — but he did not care, and he did not yield. He tickled further up her side, into the ticklish area between her arm and her chest, and she _shrieked_ , " _Michael,_ stop- st-stop, I will-"

"Never!"

"St- _op it,_ it ti- _ticklesMichael-_ "

"But you're so cute when you're ticklish," he teased — and Holly met his eyes for just a moment, before lunging down, away from his hands. But he wouldn't let her get away that easily.

Michael swept her back up to him, giving her no mercy as she writhed around with all her strength, trying to get to the other end of the couch. "Get back here!" he called between giggles as he trapped her back down — but then.

Oh, then, when she had sat upright enough to turn back toward him — then, a look came to her eye — a look foreboding of complete devastation and horrible, horrible fates… And it happened too fast, because he'd been distracted and she rolled over, her arms reaching out and her fingers sneaking onto his neck and-

"Nono- _n-_ "

She now laughed with power as she tickled away at his neck; his head jolted to the other side while his elbows pushed himself up straight, trying to get away — but she was on top of him, and far too strong — and he was doomed, he was _doomed_ …

Finally, he slipped out of her reach and grabbed her hands, holding them up no matter how hard she pushed. "I surrender!" he panted as he swung his head from side to side. "No more! White flag!"

Holly squinted playfully. "But you're so _cute_ when you're ticklish."

"Oh, yeah?" Michael asked between heavy breaths. His eyes wandered briefly down to her neck, which was wide open — and he looked up quickly. "You're cuter-"

" _No_ -"

" _Yes!_ "

But Holly jumped back to the other end of the couch, scrambling away before he could reach her — and he shot up straight, already inching over toward her. "Don't you _dare_!" Holly warned, slowly creeping off the couch.

But she knew that he _did_ dare. He could see it on her face.

Then she bolted.

Off the couch, Holly had already made it across the living room just seconds before he'd jumped up after her, and they sprinted around the couch with thunderous steps, Michael hot on her trail as he pushed himself off furniture and swung around the doorway. Holly ran for her life, down the hall and toward the stairs — until she stopped in the middle of the hallway and sealed her own fate. He barreled into her, throwing his arms around her in capture-

"What the-"

Michael froze, he and Holly recovering their balance as they stood practically on top of each other; he looked up at Annie, who had stopped on the staircase, with Howard in tow. She seemed both confused and somehow disapproving.

"Hey, Dad," Holly said, not moving from Michael's hold.

"Hiya, Hol," Howard replied, without seeming fazed at all.

Meanwhile, Michael attempted to stop smiling as he met Annie's eyes. Annie wasn't exactly smiling or scowling — just standing there with a box in hand, examining the two. Then she turned to her husband and mumbled, "Like I said, I don't think the game'll be too _young_ for them."

Michael then released Holly, who straightened out her clothes with one hand while the other remained affectionately on his back. When her parents continued down the stairs, her fingers pinched at his shirt, drawing him backward to make room in the hallway. Annie reached the bottom first, and while she waited for Howard, she turned the box for them to see.

"I thought it would be appropriate," Annie said, a hint of teasing in her voice, "considering the circumstances."

The game she'd picked was, humorously, _Sorry! Disney._ Michael wasn't sure if Holly was amused, but he laughed accidentally.

Finally, Holly raised her eyebrows and replied, "Funny, Mom." Then she peeked at Michael, and their eyes met. And Holly called it: "Couples' game."

"I second," Michael said — not that he had any trouble with boys versus girls or even with playing on Annie's team — but because he and Holly were going to _crush_ at anything Disney, period.

And he expected push-back from her mother; but Annie simply smiled, and took Howard's hand as he came off the last step. "Honey," she said to Holly in a piteous tone. "Your father and I have seen more Disney movies than either of you. And we were old enough to remember them. We have a _horrible_ advantage."

"We'll see about that," Holly said simply, as her hand sneaked down into Michael's.

"Oh, we sure will, Hollypop," Howard jumped in, and winked at her. As Annie ushered him past them, he added under his breath, "Just don't get too excited."

Michael's eyes widened at her dad, issuing the battle cry right there when he usually didn't get too competitive. Not even in Monopoly, the most competitive game in the universe, had he uttered a word other than "pass the dice."

Once they were around the corner, Holly leaned up to Michael's ear and whispered, in the darkest tone he'd ever heard from her, " _We have to destroy them."_

And now _Holly_ was getting in on it, too. He'd never seen a group of people get so suddenly aggressive over Disney trivia.

"On your command, captain," Michael muttered with a serious expression — but inside, he was all smiles.

He loved this family.

* * *

 _ **The more I read this story, the more I realize how gay I was for Holly. Holy shit.**_


	40. What You're Looking For Finds You

**Chapter XL**

 **What You're Looking For Finds You**

* * *

 _You think you know what you're looking for,_

 _Until what you're looking for finds you…_

 _It's so easy._

\- "When the Right One Comes Along" by Clare Bowen.

* * *

The weekend had given her a false sense of normality, but now that Monday had arrived, she was forced to face the fact that she was now unemployed. The day had mostly felt like a long weekend, though.

Or it did, until she had to get in the car and drive back down to the office _one more time_ , so she could clean out her desk.

Michael had offered to take the day off with her, which was sweet, but she turned him down. So it had been Holly and her parents at home all day — really just Holly, while Mom and Dad went on their morning walk, then down to the store, and then to lunch, and then to the park, and basically stayed out all day. That left her some peace and quiet to look at job openings for a couple of hours, and then to eat lunch, and then to do laundry, and then, to sit around in boredom. She wound up watching reality TV for an hour before she hit rock bottom.

Eventually, she'd grown so insanely bored with herself that she decided _going back to Dish_ would be more entertaining than nothing.

Now that she stood here in the elevator, though, she was beginning to reevaluate that decision.

Holly couldn't _stand_ being useless. She hadn't been unemployed in years, since she started back with Scranton in Nashua. It was a scary feeling, to know that she wasn't actively making any money, or heading in a direction with her career. She wanted to get hired right away, and she had applied for a few positions this morning — but she had to be a bit more careful this time, to find somewhere she could really stick around. After what she'd been through at this job, she was wary.

She was just standing here.

The elevator doors were open, and she was on her floor, but she couldn't get her feet to move. She knew that the second she stepped out onto that floor, ex-coworkers would be looking at her, making faces and acting all smug — and _David_ would no doubt be shooting paper basketballs into his trash can at this moment, not working, turned toward the door to catch her as she entered. Everyone was here, and it sucked.

But she did it anyway — with her cardboard box in hand, eyes set straight ahead. She walked into the office, ignoring all looks, not afraid of running into David or Ogling-guy or even Bill, because she was free already. She didn't have to talk to them or work with them or manage them anymore. It was five minutes, and then she never had to see any of them again.

And no one addressed her, as she marched through the main room and even made it to the hallway uninterrupted. She felt a bit better by then, though she hurried past the doorway to the break room, just in case. Still, no one seemed to notice her — and thank goodness, because she was tired and wasn't sure she'd have any patience for these people.

The real test began when she reached the back of the floor. Inside this room sat all her "buddies" — including all three of her cubicle-mates. David was, indeed, playing trash can ball, although he stopped for a moment when he saw her. Holly's breath caught as she waited for him to say something mean.

And although he appeared to want to say something, he didn't. He continued his game in silence.

Confused, Holly then glanced at Ogling-guy, whose name she might never really learn. He didn't even look at her, eyes frozen on his computer screen. And _that_ was even odder.

Nevertheless, she took the blessing and approached her desk, which reeked of disinfectant and some other cleaning chemicals. She covered her nose with one sleeve, sitting down in her chair — but not before heavily inspecting it first.

Holly decided everything was truly clean, then, so she set the box on her lap and began to collect her things: the frame of her and Michael at the picnic, all smiling and half-hugging; and the Yoda plush toy, which smelled like Lysol, but she didn't mind; and her lucky pencil with the funny eraser; and their _Elf_ snow globe, which she guessed would stay on Michael's desk until she found a new job. All her things, which she'd thought were here to stay, now back in her age-old moving box.

She hated moving. She'd done it so many times, and for once, she'd just like to have somewhere to _stay_.

There wasn't much else other than that, so she pulled her I.D. badge thingy out of her purse and dropped it on the now-empty desk, the last vestige of this god-awful job and all its disgusting memories.

"All right," she muttered to herself, looking down at her box, and up, and around her. It was still so _quiet —_ even a couple of people who were on the phone were down to a whisper. Peeking over at David, Holly tentatively added, "Goodbye."

He looked at her, mouth opening to respond. But he didn't.

So Holly tried no more, and stood up from her desk with her mover box. She pushed her chair back in, spared one more glance over the suspiciously-silent room, and turned to leave, feeling slightly relieved and slightly paranoid.

She'd almost made it uncaught, too, until she reached the middle of the hallway — and there, she nearly ran right into Colin, who had rushed around the corner at an unusual pace. She jumped back, eyes wide. "Oh! Hi."

"Hey, Holly," he said, and he sounded slightly out of breath. "I heard you were here. I wanted to catch you before you left."

That was strange, but one of the least offensive approaches any of the men here had taken. "Well, you caught me," she admitted, smiling. "Oh. Do you know why everybody's… so quiet? I think I'm being actively ignored."

Colin's eyebrows rose, and he huffed a little laugh. "Oh, that's stupid. Bill, uh, told us you were coming in today and 'warned us' not to talk to you. He thinks you might be wearing a wire or something."

"A wire?" Holly asked incredulously. "Seriously?"

He just shrugged.

If she wasn't ready to leave already, she was certainly ready now. Holly nodded at him. "Well, it was nice to see you. I'm gonna head out."

"Wait," Colin said, reaching out to stop her. Holly hung back reluctantly; he clasped his hands together. "I… don't know, if you're even interested, or if you're still looking anymore, but I didn't want you to lose your shot — so… Would you want to come over again, sometime this week?"

Holly was frozen in position, half-turned to leave, but she stopped altogether now. She blinked at him slowly, and, as his words registered in her mind, she replied, "I… I'm sorry if I gave you any impression that I… _was_ interested..." She shifted her box in her hands. "I'm engaged."

Colin's eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. "No! No, no, no!"

"And I really need to go," Holly continued, "so-"

"The _apartment_ ," Colin finally said, still shaking his head. "I — I led into that terribly, sorry. The _apartment_ is back up on the market."

That made her stop.

"The apartment?" she asked, brow furrowed. "I thought you'd already sold it."

He sighed at that. "I thought I did, too, but the couple dropped out last minute. And I know you said that you two _weren't_ interested, but I already put a down payment on my new place, so I thought, if there's any chance-"

"Yes," Holly breathed, without even having to think. "We would _definitely_ still be interested."

Colin seemed surprised by her answer — he blinked, and his mouth opened. "Really? Great!" he said. "That's great, um… How about Wednesday evening? We could talk through the details."

Holly could barely believe her ears, but she tried to keep calm, not to seem too eager. "Wednesday works, yeah," she agreed, nodding. "It's a date. Or-"

"Metaphorically," he added, and smiled. "Great. I'll see you then."

"See you then, yeah. Thank you," Holly said through a wide grin, and slowly, started back down the hall.

As she exited the hallway, she stepped out into the main room with her mind both racing and at a complete standstill, completely shocked at what had just happened. Her hands were relaxed on her mover box — her eyes were set dead ahead, hardly wavering, hardly worried that anyone was watching her. She walked at a relaxed pace, not afraid of being seen in that moment — just thinking.

And as it started to make sense in her head, her gait started to pick up, walking becoming jogging and jogging almost becoming running as she rushed to the end of the room and jammed the elevator button with her palm, her purse swinging hard against the wall as she suddenly stopped. Her heels started bouncing on the floor as she bit back her huge smile, energy rushing through her from head to toe…

The apartment was back on the market. The apartment was back on the market and it was practically theirs. The apartment was back on the market and it was practically theirs and Colin wanted to sell it as soon as possible. The apartment was back on the market!

She hadn't wrecked their chances.

Or she had, but now they were fixed, and she couldn't _believe_ it…

 _I've gotta call him._

So she balanced the box in one arm and stuck her free hand down in her purse — her big, gigantic mess of a purse, which she really needed to clean out sometime — searching high and low for her phone. The elevator door dinged, but she didn't move until she'd found it in a shroud of crumpled-up receipts and credit cards. Then she stepped into the elevator and bumped the ground-level button with her elbow.

She anxiously unlocked her phone and when she saw his name, she smiled so hard she could barely contain it. She pulled it up to her ear, and, while she listened to the perpetual ringing, leaned back against the wall of the elevator, heart _racing_ …

"C'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon c-"

" _Well, look who it is,"_ Michael's voice finally interrupted her rambling, a country accent strong in his words. " _Good ol' Lady Flax. Last time I saw you, you was the finest sight at the old saloon…"_

Holly just smiled. "Michael, I have great news. Guess what?"

Michael hesitated to respond. " _Yes! Okay, um, let me think… You got bit by that mouse and have superpowers?"_

She had to laugh at that — her face hurt from smiling already. "Nope."

" _You're in a helicopter with a secret agent?"_

"Nope," she said, squeezing her eyes shut.

" _They found Michael Jackson and he's not really dead?"_

"Better," she said softly.

Michael sounded shocked. " _Ooh, now I'm interested… What is it?"_

Holly's lips parted to answer, but all she could do was smile.

* * *

 _ **Goodnight, everybody. See you tomorrow.**_


	41. For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry

**Chapter XLI**

 **For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry**

* * *

 _You're skin — you're skin and bones,_

 _Turned into something beautiful._

 _Do you know, for you_

 _I'd bleed myself dry?_

\- "Yellow" by Coldplay.

* * *

By the end of the week, after a series of negotiations which they'd barely been able to withstand in all their excitement, the apartment was theirs; and as far as Michael was concerned, so was the world.

When Holly had called him and told him she had good news — better than getting superpowers _and_ the revival of Michael Jackson — he hadn't expected anything like this. With her job gone and their dream apartment already sold to someone else, Michael had expected to be living with the Flaxes for another eternity. He'd actually reconciled it with himself, that he could handle sharing Holly with her parents for months on end. If it was what it took to be with her, and to make her happy, then Michael was okay with it.

But thank _god_ that wasn't going to happen.

Colin had invited them over Wednesday, and again today to finalize everything — and now, it was a done deal. They'd be moving out at the end of the month, so until then, all they had to do was pack, and wait. It was a huge relief, to have almost everything behind them for a couple of weeks. So to celebrate, they'd gotten a hotel room for the weekend, all to themselves.

And Michael had anticipated a lot of activity, both sexual and otherwise, to take place tonight — but Holly had come up with a _very different_ idea, which involved stopping for pizza and office supplies on the way…

"And… the recliner," Michael announced as he popped the cap onto the black-cherry-scented marker. He looked up at her, and gestured toward the pile of markers between them. "Your move."

Holly wasn't quite as naked as he'd _hoped_ for her to be, but she was halfway there, lying on the floor in underwear and a t-shirt, with a piece of pizza in hand. She lay on her stomach, head propped up on her elbows, eyes downcast as she examined the large piece of cardstock — marked up with the floor layout of their future apartment.

Maybe they were getting ahead of themselves, since it would be weeks before they could even _begin_ to move their furniture in. But this was still a hell of a lot of fun.

"Ooh," Holly said suddenly, mouth full of pizza crust. She wiggled her fingers through the pile of colors until she found a bright gold, which she promptly uncapped. She began a little doodle in the far corner of the living room, next to the screen doors. "Here!"

Michael tried to see past her hand as she drew. "What's that?"

"Your Dundies," she said, smiling. She finished up and removed her hand to reveal the shape of a little trophy. "Plus mine."

Holly had only ever received one Dundie award — The Nose That Knows Award, for having the cutest nose in the office — but she took great pride in it. Michael was happy to share his Dundie display with her.

"What should we put out on the patio?" he asked. He let her take another turn with the markers while he grabbed another piece of pizza; besides, she was a better artist than he was. And he liked to watch her draw.

"Hmm…" She tapped the back of her marker on the carpet thoughtfully. Her hair fell down in her face as she examined the white sheet — Michael liked how long it was getting now. She bit her lip, and he sighed to himself.

Then her eyes lit up with an idea.

"We could plant flowers," Holly offered, meeting his eyes. "And then I can lay my yoga mat out there, and every morning, it'll smell like jasmine and dew…"

Michael just smiled, particularly pleased, and nodded. "Sure."

Squinting, Holly asked, "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly with a shrug. "I like it. Draw 'em in."

She still seemed to question his smiling, but focused on coloring in the purple flowers on the page.

As he studied the floor plan between them — with the living room and kitchen now complete, leaving only the bedrooms to be decorated — he couldn't help but feel completely _electrified._ They hadn't talked about living together for so long, because they'd been focused on other things, and then because of her personal fears, but finally, they were planning again! And Michael didn't even like planning that much.

But he loved _imagining_ it: living here with her, cuddling on their couch again, sleeping in their own bed, having only _their food_ in _their fridge_ — really having something that they shared, and not his place or her place. He hadn't realized how much he really _wanted_ it until it was here, so close…

"And I guess we'll use the baby room for storage," she said, interrupting his thoughts — but while she said this, she lightly drew a little baby crib in pink, over by the window. "At least, until we need it," Holly added as she peeked up at him.

His whole body filled with air, just to hear her say it. When she smiled at him, though, all the air escaped, and he smiled back so largely that it almost hurt. She chuckled at him, and he laughed, too, in disbelief of how happy he was.

"We're actually doing this," Holly said through her grinning teeth, head shaking.

Michael exhaled all the excited energy. "Yes, we are," he replied, and glanced down at the card stock. Looking over the outline, he nodded toward the bedroom on her side, and reached for a marker. "Which wall should the bed be on?"

She took a bite of pizza and mumbled, "Across from the door… Maybe under the window."

He hummed in agreement, promptly drawing a little bed under her little window.

And yet in this whole week, there had come with this extreme happiness an opposite but equal reaction of fear, and one that he couldn't attempt to rationalize away — because it came from a place of rationality. It was reasonable to understand that Holly was still scared, and she wasn't going to be un-scared just because she'd told him about A.J. And because of that, he'd been afraid to believe it.

But here she was — sitting right in front of him, literally _drawing a map_ of their future apartment because she was so excited. It had been her idea to postpone sex and plan, when only a couple of weeks ago, she'd done _everything_ to keep from talking about it.

And he was so stupidly _happy_.

"How does that look?"

Michael had fazed out as he stared at her hand, but when he focused his eyes, he realized that she had filled in the whole bedroom. The layout looked pretty similar to that of their old room in Scranton, but with a lot more room, and a few more of her things thrown in. And he could imagine living in it.

He could imagine spending every morning and every night in it, for quite a while. But he didn't say that out loud.

"Looks good," he said with a nod. An odd hint of emotion came out in his voice, so he quickly cleared his throat. "Yep."

And he hadn't meant to catch her attention with that, but he did — Holly looked up from her drawing, and her smile drifted slightly. She cocked her head to the side. "You okay?"

Her voice was so soft in the small hotel room, and once she'd said it, it was quiet — quieter than it ever was at her parents' house. Her eyes were on him steadily, and they looked bluer, now that he could just stare at them; and her lips were cute and smiling, parted to show her teeth as she watched him, intently…

"I…" he tried to say, unsure of what would come out as he studied her there, his mind refusing to make words beforehand. The longer he watched her, the farther her smile fell; and she looked down at her drawing questioningly. "I just…"

His eyes followed her down, down past the living room and the kitchen, down the hall and around the corner from the master bedroom — down to the near-empty second bedroom, holding nothing but a little pink crib.

Then he knew what he wanted to say, and he lifted his head again.

"I can't wait," he admitted, drawing her attention instantly, "to spend my life with you."

And that, perhaps, was the feeling he'd been feeling ever since he'd come here. In rushing out of his home in Scranton, saying goodbye to everything that had been normal for decades of his life, throwing himself into her family and this new state with this new job, and taking on a completely new set of feelings, experiences, fears, dreams, and basically another _life_ as a part of _his_ life now — all he could feel, beyond the grandest sense nostalgia for his old life or the darkest fear for the future, was hope. And excitement. And pure impatience.

"Does that scare you?" Michael had to ask, with the last of his held breath.

Holly's hand was frozen a few inches above the sea of scented markers. She stared at him warmly, cheeks smiling while her teeth ran over her lips thoughtfully. She opened her mouth once or twice, as if to respond to that somehow, but she never got it out. She just paled, dumbstruck.

And for a moment, he was terrified.

Her first move was deliberate and quiet. Without looking, she gripped the edge of the sheet of card stock and slid it along the carpet, out from between them. Her next move was to inch toward him, so slowly that he could feel his pulse pounding in his wrists. She arrived in front of him, seated on her knees in her navy-blue t-shirt, eyes so strong on his that he was intimidated by her complete intensity in this moment.

Her next move was to place her hands on his, folding them in her lap, and to just… smile, at him.

"Do you know," Holly whispered, in a low tone that was both sultry and completely, heart-achingly sincere; "that I could marry you right now?"

And that fact, combining with his sheer happiness, and the floor plan beside them, and the empty hotel room around them, and how he felt as though he could fly, and how much he _wanted_ her, was just the last thing he needed to hear.

His first move was to kiss her — to kiss the hell out of her, to sling his arms around her, to squeeze his eyes shut and to taste her, to feel her body up close against his and to rein her in so tightly that he might just suffocate her — to let his hands up into her shirt and to waste no time in fighting to get it off her, because every single distraction was gone and these clothes were the last thing to keep him away from her now.

His second move was one he'd been planning for a _very_ long time.

* * *

 _ **This is based on something I actually did when I was planning this story. My friend and I worked together on a floor plan for Michael and Holly's apartment, and then she made it in some home-design program. This pretty well captured how it felt (cheesy though it was) to look down the barrel of your life and just see this other person there, with you, forever. You feel just invincible.**_

 _ **It's much better when it works out.**_


	42. We Share the Same Hotel Bed

**Chapter XLII**

 **We Share the Same Hotel Bed**

* * *

 _We share the same hotel bed,_

 _Humming the same melody in our heads…_

 _I think I'm gonna hum it with you,_

 _Over and over again._

\- "I Play in Your Band" by Rob Giles.

* * *

"Ooh…" came from down below.

Holly glanced up from what she was reading, and she scrolled up a little bit, toward whatever had caught his attention. She scanned the page for whatever she'd missed. "What?"

Michael's head lifted halfway from her lap to read the laptop screen — his hand momentarily left her thigh to point at the middle of the page. "You could work at a hospital," he suggested, and laid his head back down. "It'd be cool. Get to see a lot of blood and limbs…?"

She smiled, free hand twirling his hair between her fingers as she considered this. "As an H.R. rep?" she asked.

He rolled his head back to look up at her, seeming convinced. "Probably," he decided. "Maybe once or twice a month."

Shaking her head, Holly resumed her scrolling, mumbling, "Too much of a commute for once or twice a month."

Then Michael gasped playfully. "You could become a doctor," he said with a shrug. "You're smart enough, and I mean, it's pretty simple. Go to medical school, pick a specialty. Practice on a few dead bodies, and then just do the same thing on a living person!"

As amusing as that was, Holly didn't entertain the idea for much longer than a second. "I think it's a bit more complex," she said, running her nails gently over the back of his head. "Besides, I don't have a real passion for medicine."

"Or you could be a lawyer," Michael continued. He turned his head back again, and rolled over completely onto his back, looking up at her. "You're a pretty good arguer. Plus, you like rules, and there aren't a lot of people that actually _like_ rules."

She stopped scrolling for a moment to look at him seriously. "I couldn't be a lawyer…" she insisted.

"You don't know that," he said, and poked her to emphasize his point. "You've got a trustworthy face. The jury'll believe anything you say."

"A trustworthy _face_?"

"Yep," Michael confirmed, nodding firmly. "Could be in your own commercial. And I could guest star! I'd play your satisfied client, who divorced his wife and got all her money because of you. And at the end of the commercial, I'd say your catchphrase, like, 'Flax fights for _you_ …'"

This was probably the seventh idea Michael had pitched to her, and again, it was not at all related to Human Resources, or anything else she'd be qualified to do. But she didn't mind. She liked to listen to him talk.

"Flax and Associates," he amended after a moment of silence. His brow furrowed in concentration. "'F-L-A-X: For Law Always Excels'. 'Fighting Liars And Executioners'…"

"'Freedom Lawyers And Experts'?" Holly offered, laying her head down sideways.

"Maybe," Michael agreed, but continued to brainstorm. "Or you could streamline to one demographic, you know. 'Forever Loving Asians… Extremely'…"

"'For Lesbians And Extra.'"

"Better," he said instantly. Meeting her eyes, he added seriously, "Lesbians need lawyers a lot."

Confused, Holly started to ask what he meant by that — but then, a knock came at the door, interrupting the conversation. Instantly, Michael's head shot up. "That's breakfast!"

She allowed him to slide out from her lap, setting her laptop back down once he was out. She remembered to pull the blanket over her bare legs just before Michael had opened the door for room service. Even once she was covered, she ducked out of view from the door. She'd been pants-less, bra-less, and makeup-less all weekend; at some point, she'd stopped thinking about it.

Sunday was always bittersweet, because it meant both that she and Michael would have the morning to themselves, and that tomorrow, they'd both go back to work. It was a little worse today, though — because it was the last of their weekend away. In less than twenty-four hours, he'd be back to work, and she'd be back to spending the day either alone or stuck with her parents for hours, cleaning or looking at jobs or just being bored to tears. And she wasn't ready for that kind of rude awakening to this dream weekend…

Michael had suggested they stay the week, which wasn't cost-efficient in the slightest; but in that moment, she wished with all her heart to be as reckless with money as he was.

Her wish hadn't come true, so they were checking out at lunchtime.

"Thank you, good sir," Michael said just before shutting the door. As he turned back into the room, he revealed a tray of their consolation breakfast: two servings of chocolate cake and wine glasses full of milk. Holly smiled, shaking her head.

She didn't know how he'd gotten them to bring chocolate cake during breakfast hours, but it certainly took the sting off their departure today.

Once he had carefully transported the meal to the bedside, Holly set her computer aside and sat up. Michael was all wide-eyed as he handed her a piece of cake. "All right," he muttered, setting the milk glasses on the bedside table. He then hopped up on the bed and wiggled up to her side, styrofoam bowl in hand. "Did they give you a fork?"

"Mhm," she said with a big nod as she examined her cake, chocolate with chocolate frosting and _huge_. She bit her lip to keep from chuckling at Michael's breakfast decision, merely smiling at him. "Bon appetit."

Michael raised his first bite in a toast, before promptly stuffing his face. Chocolate icing rubbed off on his mouth in many interesting directions, but he did not appear to mind at all — and his eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, my god."

Now Holly was curious, so she tried a bite, herself. She didn't expect it to taste quite as it did.

"Oh, my _god…_ "

"That is-"

" _Wow_."

"A-plus!" Michael announced a bit loudly, through a full mouth. He kissed his fingertips for emphasis, increasing the mess of icing smudges on his face. "Ten out of _ten_!"

Holly beamed at him as she wiped at the corners of her mouth with her pinky. "Do they sell these whole?" she asked.

"I don't know!" he said, shrugging. "But I am gonna _ask_."

Holly quickly took another bite, and shook her head again. "Oh, my _god_ …" Shaking her fork at her bowl, she added, "This is the best cake I've ever tasted."

"I feel," Michael said, sounding a bit confused, "lust, for this cake. Is that creepy, to say?"

"If it's creepy, then I'm a huge creep," she said instantly. "Because I'd make love to _this cake_."

His eyes widened at that, and he laughed in surprise. " _Wow_ ," he breathed, grinning. "I've never wanted to be a piece of cake before."

And of course, her cheeks heated up, because she hadn't gone long enough in life without blushing again. "There's still time," she mumbled, reaching for her milk. Without looking, she could hear Michael's jaw drop.

"We can just," Michael said, eyebrows raised — and he intercepted her glass suddenly, leaning toward her, "skip dessert and go straight to dessert."

He was so close, and his eyes were so sexy, but she couldn't keep from giggling. "You have chocolate all over your face," she said softly.

"I know," he muttered in a deep southern accent. "That'sh how I like it."

"That'sh how I like you," Holly whispered. When he came close enough, she kissed his more chocolate-y lip; and she added, "But it's almost ten."

Michael at first didn't recognize what this meant, brushing another kiss on her mouth before whispering, "We have until twelve…"

Opening her eyes again, she smiled. "It's Sunday, Michael."

Still, he did not seem to care — but a couple of warm icing kisses later, the realization hit him hard, and his eyebrows shot up. "Mmm!" he exclaimed with his lips still pressed to hers, and pulled back. "It's video chat day!"

"There it is."

"We're late," he realized, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. He briefly set his cake aside, and handed her back her glass; she sat back and watched him as he grabbed the laptop and plopped it down between them. Michael began to type rapidly. "We're late, we're late, for a very important date!"

Holly liked to see this same excitement every two weeks, when it was time to video chat with Scranton again — but at the same time, it made her nervous. It was such a bittersweet experience for him every time, and he came out of it both crying and on Cloud Nine. She just hoped it was helping him.

"It's ringing!"

She looked over at him, and found that his face was still covered in chocolate. "Wait," she said quickly, wiping at his cheek with her free hand. Michael instantly turned his head toward her, eyes bouncing between her face and the screen. She bit her lip as she licked the icing off her thumb, and wiped again — a virtual rinse and repeat.

"You get it?" he asked as he watched her finger dab away at the mess of chocolate. To aid her, he licked around the corners of his mouth, although this only smudged the thick icing.

Holly chuckled. "You're making it worse…"

His eyes shined at that, and he sneaked a kiss onto her finger. She then wiggled her finger into his mouth playfully; he lightly bit on her fingertip, and she chuckled…

" _Hey, Michael!"_

Holly's head shot up at that, turning back to the laptop. On the screen, the camera had activated, and seated together in a familiar fashion, Jim, Pam, Dwight, and Andy blinked into the screen. "Hi, guys!" Michael greeted around Holly's finger. He then released her, and she scooted back a bit. "How's it going?"

"Hi," Holly greeted, unable to keep from smiling.

" _Hi, Holly,"_ both Pam and Erin replied. Andy lifted his hand from his guitar in a half-wave.

" _Hello,"_ Dwight said simply.

"Happy Sunday!" Michael said with a _huge_ grin, while he adjusted the camera. "I missed you guys! How's it going?"

" _It's going good, Michael,"_ Pam answered, nodding. She glanced at Jim, and added with a chuckle, " _It's going really good, actually."_

He blinked at them, seeming curious. "Someone's happy," he remarked, and he sent Holly a brief look. She kept her mouth shut, having an idea of what they _might_ be so happy about. "Did Jim buy you another house? A mansion?"

Jim shook his head, also smiling. " _Nope, but uh, we do have some news."_

Michael's eyes lit up. "Really? What's the news?"

" _Michael, we have hired a replacement for Deangelo Vickers,"_ Dwight informed him, over top of whatever Jim had started to say. " _I told them we should consult you first, but they didn't listen."_

Michael's brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "That's- that's okay, Dwight. You need a boss. An office doesn't function without a boss." Then looking at Jim, he added, "Okay, so who'd you get? Young guy, old guy… rotund gentleman? Is he a total lame-o?"

" _His name is Robert California-"_

" _Yeah - that's- that's not what I was gonna tell you…"_

"I recognize that name," Holly found herself interrupting. Michael looked over at her curiously, and she shrugged. "I think he might have been interviewing for a position in Nashua, a couple of years back."

"Really?" Michael asked. "Is he as handsome as me?"

Holly smiled. "No, he's not."

"Is he as funny as me?"

"Of course not," she insisted.

"Is he taller than me?" he asked.

Holly inhaled, and glanced at the camera. "I… don't remember." She set her hand on Michael's leg and turned more to the screen. "So Pam, Jim, what's your news?"

Pam was visibly relieved to be asked, and beamed at Jim as she replied, " _Well… We have something to show you."_ Then she nodded at Jim, who stood up from the arm of the couch and reached into his pocket.

Michael watched the screen intently, muttering, "Is it another video of Cece singing?" Then to Holly, he added, "Because those just never get old…"

Jim now stood close to the screen, and knelt down before the coffee table, with a small photograph in hand. He held it up to the camera.

"Is that ultrasound?" Michael asked, eyes wide.

" _Yep,"_ Jim said off-screen, leaving the picture up for them.

" _We just found out last week!"_

"Congratulations!" Holly said, examining the ultrasound. She looked over at Michael, who was silent. "They're pregnant!"

"You're pregnant?" Michael asked, eyes wide.

" _We're pregnant!"_

" _Well, she's pregnant."_

"You're pregnant," he repeated, voice sounding a bit strained, working himself up. "I think I'm gonna cry…"

" _Don't cry, Michael!"_ Pam called.

" _Yeah, don't bother,"_ Dwight said with a wave of his hand. " _Pam's going to vaccinate, which will leave the child physically weakened and trapped in a state of emotional submission. Attachment is futile."_

"Dwight, they're having a _baby_ ," Michael protested. "Could you be human for five seconds?"

Dwight made a noise of indignation. " _I'm more human than_ _ **all**_ _of you, with all the foreign viruses and chemicals injected into your immune system-"_

"Do you know the sex yet?" Holly asked, while her hand gently rubbed up and down Michael's thigh.

" _Not yet, but in a few weeks they should be able to tell,"_ Pam said.

" _We've been hoping for a boy this time,"_ Jim added. Pam sent him a look of amusement.

"' _We' being code for 'Jim'."_

" _ **No**_ _,"_ he insisted with a smile, pointing at her. " _She wants one, too — she just won't say it."_

" _I will be happy either way!"_

" _But you do have a preference."_

" _I'm impartial!"_

" _Why would anyone want a girl in particular?"_ Dwight interrupted, mostly talking to himself. " _They don't carry on the family name, and they're statistically proven to take less interest in family traditions and business-"_

" _Really, Dwight?"_ Andy asked, his tone ridiculous. " _Have you ever heard Butterfly Kisses?"_

" _Please."_

" _Okay,"_ came a new voice, and the four of them looked up at someone off-screen. " _I don't know how to tell if it's done."_

"Kelly!" Michael announced, having recognized the voice seconds before Holly did. "Come to me! Let me see your beautiful circular face."

" _-meat thermometer's on the counter."_

" _I tried to use it, but I think it's stupid or something, because all it said was how heavy the chicken was."_

" _I'll get it,"_ Jim said, and he was back on his feet, heading around the couch. Pam muttered something to him, and he chuckled.

Turning back to the computer, Pam smiled. " _So how's things with you two?"_

Holly hadn't expected to be asked a question, content to just watch the discourse on-screen — and Michael looked over, meeting her eyes with a smile. "Perfect," he admitted, which sent her stomach aflutter. He added to the camera, "We've officially put down the security deposit on our new apartment. We're moving at the end of the month!"

" _Wow!"_ Pam said. " _That's fantastic! I bet you're excited to get back on your own again."_

"Oh, _yeah_ ," Michael said, nodding exaggeratedly. "And the place is really nice — it's perfect. Getting it had its own story, and the best things have a cool story behind them, so… Who knows? We might be showing you guys a little bean-baby sometime soon."

Holly's eyebrows rose at that. He then turned to her, noticing her surprised expression; she smiled. "Not _too_ soon. We still have the wedding."

Suddenly, the subtle guitar playing in the background stopped, and Andy looked up. Also suddenly, Kelly swooped into the picture.

" _The wedding?"_ Kelly asked, trying to seem casual as she sat down on the back of the couch. " _Are you guys, like, planning that yet, or…?"_

This had all taken Holly by surprise. She cleared her throat, glancing between Michael and Kelly, and replied nervously, "We haven't talked much about it, yet… but I guess we're starting to think about it."

"Are we?" Michael asked, with a hint of hopefulness. His tone literally filled her stomach with butterflies, as she looked at him and realized that he appeared to be _excited_ at the topic. She'd never met a man who was excited about wedding talk.

"I guess we are," she muttered, and she was now very conscious of her cheekbones as she bit her lip. His full stare had her both blushing and staring right back. Her teeth peeked out in an accidental grin.

" _I love weddings,"_ Andy interjected, breaking the moment. When they looked at him, he continued, " _What are you guys considering? Like a, traditional, indoor sort of thing? Or like at a park?"_

" _You should get married on the beach!"_ Kelly practically shrieked as she clapped her hands. " _You could wear a long, flowy dress that blows in the wind, and when he flips your veil over, he can throw it out into the ocean!"_

Michael's jaw dropped. "I like that. We could do that!"

" _ **No**_ _,"_ Dwight interrupted sternly. " _That's littering. And a_ _ **veil**_ _, Kelly? Do you_ _ **want**_ _to choke a cute little dolphin? Wanna trap a tiny baby sea turtle? Is that your idea of a dream wedding? Crime?"_

" _Oh, my god, Dwight. Someone could go get the veil."_

"I don't know if we've set down any kind of venue yet," Holly clarified, although she did spare Michael a look in case he had anything in mind. When he didn't, she continued, "We haven't even set a date."

" _Oh my god oh my god! Holly, do a spring wedding. Trust me, you will_ _ **not**_ _regret it."_

" _I think winter weddings are pretty,"_ Pam offered, shrugging her shoulders. " _I mean, obviously Jim and I didn't go that route, but for you guys, I think it'd be cute."_

Holly considered this, but Michael instantly replied, "I think I'd like a spring wedding. Winter is too cold here. Plus, we'd have that outdoor-slash-beach option." He sent Holly a curious look. "Thoughts?"

She pursed her lips in thought. "I like April."

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "April fourth," he offered, to both her and the others. "In 2012 — adds up to twenty. Four, four, twelve."

On screen, Pam nodded. " _The math is very important."_

"Exactly," Michael agreed to her sarcasm. "That way, I can remember our anniversary with ease. Right? What do you think?"

Holly's lips parted, unsure of exactly what she thought — but the logic of it worked for her, and he really seemed to love it, so she nodded. "It's a date."

" _Yay! Oh, my gosh, I have a million ideas for the color scheme already. This is so exciting!"_

"It is!" Michael exclaimed softly, while looking directly at Holly. His expression was bright, as if he'd completely forgotten that he was sad just a few minutes ago — and that was the ultimate success to her. She bit her lip, and leaned in to kiss him quickly.

Then, behind Kelly's emoting and Pam's conversation with Jim in the kitchen, Andy began to play the wedding march on his guitar.

And Holly's smile widened.

* * *

 _ **Hot take of the fuckin year: Dwight is an anti-vaxxer.**_


	43. You Make Me Sing

**Chapter XLIII**

 **You Make Me Sing**

* * *

 _And through these crazy times,_

 _It's you, it's you; you make me sing._

 _You're every line, you're every word,_

 _You're everything._

\- "Everything" by Michael Buble.

* * *

"So you want, um, two- two slides for this?"

In his mind, there would be three. And they would be covered in thick white frosting.

And there would be a little candy bride-and-groom on top, which he would pull off and let her lick the icing off it — and her red lipstick would rub off on the little bride's dress, and she'd smile, and her eyes would look so blue. Her hair would brush against his shoulder as she stepped into his embrace, and then he'd get that first bite of cake in his hand…

"It might fit on one…"

And he'd put it up to her mouth and get it all over her nose, and she'd laugh. The sun would reflect off the water, shining on her from behind and lighting up her edges. And her veil would hang down her back, and catch between his fingers when he drew her in…

"Michael?"

"Yesh…"

"Michael."

He blinked his eyes into focus at the screen in front of him, and then up at Ginny. "What?" he asked, lifting his head from his hand. Scanning the page, he muttered, "Oh, yeah, yeah. Blue looks nice, yes."

Ginny frowned at him.

"Or… no?" Michael tried. "Did… Is that not what… What- what are you-"

"Were you listening?" she asked.

He shook his head and leaned up straight. "Ah, nope. Sorry. PowerPoint is just the worst, most boring thing ever…"

Ginny sighed and clicked back up to the previous slide. "Where did I lose you?"

Michael wasn't even sure at this point. The presentation in front of him was supposed to be delivered to his superiors by Friday and he still wasn't sure about what information he was trying to share. "Uh, with the bar graph," he said, pointing at the computer. "I had that. No, up. The first one."

"This?"

"Yeah, the one with the thing about- the thing with 'small-scale figures'," he remembered suddenly, as he clapped his hands together. "Yes! Because it made me think of those little bride and groom figurines that you put on top of the cake at a wedding, and then I started thinking about wedding cake."

"Okay," Ginny remarked in surprise as she selected one of the first few slides. She scooted her chair up closer to his desk, and added under her breath, "That's pretty far back, but…"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Michael protested with a shrug. He rolled his chair to the side to let her shove in, since she was the one controlling the mouse anyway. "I just am very distracted… today… by wedding things…"

"Mhm." Ginny didn't seem very interested today.

Smiling, he added, "Do you want to know why?"

And she didn't really seem to want to know why, either, but she did stop clicking to look at him. "Are you-" she began, narrowing her eyes. "Are you getting married soon?"

"Well, no," Michael said first. "Not really soon, but we're talking about it. And I am so excited… that I think I'm going to lose it. Will you be there for me if I lose it?"

Ginny did grin at that, muttering, "At this rate, we'll be here all day… so yes."

"Good," he breathed as he fell against the back of his chair, sighing loudly. "Because I just- I feel like I can't _breathe_ , just thinking about it. I'm gonna _marry_ her."

When he looked over at her, she was smiling. "That's so sweet," she said, almost sounding sad. "Do you have a date?"

"April of next year," he said with a wide grin. His head turned sideways, toward the glass behind him, looking out over the city. "It's gonna be amazing, and people are gonna come down from every direction to see it. All my friends from Scranton, and my family, and _her_ family…"

"Where does her family live?" Ginny asked as she scrolled on the computer. Evidently, she'd decided to work without him.

Michael considered this for a long second. "Her sister's all the way in California… and her grandparents are in Florida, I think. Then there's aunts and uncles and cousins and whatnot — who knows where _they_ are?"

Suddenly, Ginny sat back and looked at him. "There's space here for me to put additional information, if you have anything you want to add on the next quarter's goals, or…"

"That's- I can't think about that right now," Michael said flippantly, sighing from boredom. "Just put a funny picture, like a Snoopy comic or something — something pertinent, though. Or a gif!"

"Gifs don't work in…" Ginny began, almost looking up at him; but her voice trailed off. All he heard then was the sound of clicking and dragging.

Once she no longer needed him to focus, Michael relaxed again, with a dreamy smile. "She's gonna look beautiful, too. I can see it in my head — you're not supposed to see the bride before the wedding, but I already can. She's gonna have the dress, and her hair's gonna be _gorgeous_ , and her eyes, and the veil, and… It doesn't even matter what she wears, though, you know? She's gonna be flawless. She can't help it."

"That's sweet," Ginny murmured again, and glanced back at him. "Can we maybe focus on _this_ right now?"

Michael blinked at her, his vision ruined — looked her right in the hazy eyes, the serious expression, the blonde eyebrows perched up in a look of subtle disapproval — and his face fell. Then he turned his head toward the open door and called, " _Heather!_ "

Ginny's mouth opened indignantly. "Michael-"

"Heath- _er_!" he shouted louder.

" _What?"_

"I'm bored! Come talk to me about my wedding!"

" _Okay!"_

"Okay," Michael echoed to himself, smiling at Ginny. In response, Ginny just pursed her lips, and turned back to the screen. He wrinkled his eyebrows. "C'mon. We have two more days to finish that up. Can't we talk about the best day of my life for a minute?"

She clicked over to the spreadsheet and began copying and pasting more figures for the next slide, only adding under her breath, "At least I like PowerPoint."

He squinted. "Yuck. Seriously?"

Ginny shrugged at him. "Compiling data. It's enjoyable."

"Wow," he muttered, a hint of disgust underlying an admitted interest. "You should go into accounting — something like that."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really?" she asked as she side-eyed the project on the screen. "I mean, I'm not that math-savvy."

Michael shook his head, making a "psh" noise. "You're smart enough. I have known accountants who are kinda dumb, so… Excuse me — intelligently challenged. But you- you'd be fine. Besides, you've already got experience in an office setting."

"True," she agreed, nodding slowly. Eyes wandering off, she added, "I don't know if I'd really like to do it for a living, but-"

"Mawiage!"

Michael and Ginny both jolted as Heather burst into the room, shouting the famous _Princess Bride_ line with dramatic flair. " _Mawiage_ is what bwings us togever today!" he shot back almost instinctively, and chuckled. "I want the preacher to say that at my wedding."

Heather's expression fell into complete disagreement. "Yikes," she said, but held her hands up. "Your wedding. Is that candy?"

Michael followed her eyes down to the jar on the edge of his desk, and nodded. "Why, yes! I ordered a huge bag of M&M's from Amazon, so fill up your pockets before you go."

"I wish," she said with wide candy-eyes. She did take a handful, and promptly hoisted herself up onto his desk, shoving a few things out of the way. "I've got a hot date this weekend. Can't get fat until that's out of the way."

"Ooh," Michael said, leaning forward on his fists. "Is it the same guy you saw Sunday?"

Heather shook her head instantly. "Eff to the no. He didn't like superheroes _or_ Elizabethan poetry, and those are not odds I like."

"Heather," Ginny said. She finally looked up from the computer, to ask, "Have you turned in your next-quarter projections yet?"

"Nope, but they're done," Heather replied, while her hands rifled through Michael's desktop things. When she noticed his snow globe, her eyes lit up. "Ooh…"

"Can I use it as a reference?" she asked.

Heather shrugged. "My computer's open if you wanna take a look."

This was apparently a great relief for Ginny, who instantly shot up from her seat, grabbing her phone. "Thank you!" she breathed before she was beyond the desk and already heading out the door. Heather didn't even look at her, entranced by the snow globe which she held high over her head, lying back on the desk, legs dangling off the edge. She did offer a grunt of recognition.

Once Ginny had left, Heather mumbled, "So you're planning the wedding? You haven't even moved out of her parents' place yet."

Michael grinned. "I know, but that doesn't mean we have to wait."

"I guess not. So what are you envisioning? Big church, poofy bridesmaid dresses…? Fire-breathing jugglers? Barn? What's the flavor?"

"I really want a beach wedding," he admitted gleefully. "But I'm open to other ideas. Holly hasn't really said much about what she wants specifically, but I'm sure she has some ideas she hasn't shared yet. Her mom will get 'em out of her if I can't."

"You should do a winter wedding," Heather suggested nonetheless. "In a lodge in the mountains, by a big fireplace. That would be so rustic and unique…"

"Yeah," Michael said, staring off into space. "Or in a field, maybe — with a bunch of flowers and the sun and trees, and we could get married in the shade of a big tree, or a _gazebo_ — _that_ would be cool."

"A Gothic church," she said as she shook the snow globe. "With old candlesticks and elegant chairs…"

"In a hot air balloon! And when we say 'I do,' we sky-dive out!"

"Edgy," Heather remarked. "A little dangerous. You could die on your wedding day. That'd suck."

" _Heather?"_ called Ginny from across the hall, interrupting the conversation. Heather sat up halfway to look out the door.

"Yeah?"

" _What's it saved under?"_

"I just typed a bunch of letters. Go to recent files!"

"Hopefully once we move out, we'll be able to really focus on planning," Michael said, ignoring their exchange entirely. Then to Heather, he added, "We're actually taking everything over in a couple of weeks, so if you have time to come help…"

"Um, I can almost guarantee I will _make_ plans that will exclude me from all that fun," Heather said instantly. "Thank you for the offer."

Michael frowned, and reached for the M&M's. "You could meet my fiancee — share all your brilliant wedding ideas. If she likes any of them, she _might_ just make you a bridesmaid. She's a couple short."

"I seriously doubt that will happen," she said, but shrugged her shoulders. "But I'll see what comes up and get back to you… If there's pizza or something-"

" _ **Heather**_ _!"_

" _What_?" she shouted back in exasperation, throwing her head back — but it took her only an instant to realize that this wasn't Ginny again, and her head bounced back up. Her eyes were wide. "Oh, sh-"

" _Where is she?"_

Michael's jaw dropped as he inched up straight, mouth full of candy. "What'd you do to him this time?" he asked with intense interest. Meanwhile, he could hear Zach's furious stomping as he threw a door open across the hall.

Heather looked as if she were about to both laugh and jump out the window. "I-"

" _Heather_ ," Zach cut her off as he pushed into Michael's office, all fury and burning biceps — they both jumped to look at him. His face was red. "You are so _fucking_ dead!"

"Zach, let's not fight-"

"What's going on?" Michael asked in complete confusion, looking between the two. Heather was upright now, but not on her feet — while Zach was much closer to both of them now. "What are we fighting about?"

"Gay _porn_?" Zach snapped, not even looking at Michael, who had given his best shot at mediating. "On my _business profile_? That's not even funny! How the hell am I ever supposed to get hired?"

Heather just set her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, porn is porn. Don't be a bigot."

He had already shoved her hand off, with an amount of force that prompted Michael to stand up. "Hey, you guys," Michael interrupted the moment, hands extended in peace. "This is a workplace, okay? We don't behave this way in the workplace. We don't shove- hey, _hey_!"

Heather shoved him away from her anyway, and hopped off the desk, arms out threateningly. "Hey, fuck you! Touch me again - see what happens!"

"Hey, hey, _hey_ '," Michael protested as he rounded the desk. "No more shoving. Apologize."

"It was a _prank_. He's overreacting!"

"I just told you I'm looking for work, and now you're ruining my chances!" Zach shot off, and she looked back at him. "What is your _mental process_? Can you just not bear to see me go? Are you that obsessed with me?"

"You're fucking insane."

" _Should I get H.R.?"_ Ginny called from the hall, not coming within ten feet of this argument. Maybe she was smart about that. Michael felt his feet inching back toward the glass behind him, and he was running out of space between him and outside.

"We don't need H.R.!" Heather shouted; and then in a slightly quieter voice, added to Zach, "You didn't give me my _messages_ last week. We lost business. It came out of _my salary_."

"You weren't at work to get them!"

"You have my personal number, Zach!"

"It's not my job to cover _your_ ass when you go out during work hours!" Zach snapped. And suddenly, his eyes were on Michael, and then back on Heather. "No one here does their damn _job_."

Michael scowled, and stepped a bit toward him. "Okay, what's your problem, man? Why do you keep doing that? Do you have a _problem_ with me, or something?"

"That job was mine," Zach said, without hesitance, and jabbed a finger at him. "I've been working here for years, and I do everyone's jobs, and I'm still a goddamn _secretary._ Meanwhile, you and Heather just sit around all day doing _nothing_ , and then when your job catches up to you, it's _my_ fault?"

"You're such a baby," Heather growled.

"Hey, Heather and I both get our jobs done," Michael said, furrowing his brow. "And personally, I don't think you're doing your job if you don't give people their messages, so maybe there's work to be done on both sides."

" _Oswald left!"_ Ginny interrupted in a worried tone.

"You two are children," Zach muttered, looking between both of them — but mainly at Heather. "You live like kids, you work like kids, you eat and joke and waste time like _kids_. You take sick days to sleep around like a whore, and you commandeer the _lunch tables_ , like _kids!_ "

"Hey, my kid is _not_ a whore," Heather raised her voice, mocking him.

Zach's eyes widened at that, and he instantly lifted his fists. That was enough for Michael.

" _Hey_ , back up!" Michael shouted, stepping in Heather's way before Zach could even think about moving. Michael held up his finger and continued, "You need to leave right now and _compose_ yourself, because this is not professional. This is not right."

"I-"

"You're embarrassing yourself!" Michael cut him off quickly, and looked over at Heather. "You both are, because Zach is right — this is childish. This just isn't how people in an office act. An office… is a place for friendship, and teamwork, and happiness. It is a place where you fall in love, and grow together, and sometimes, yes, get mad at each other — but you _fix it_ , because you're a family. Don't you see that?"

Neither of them responded. They both exchanged bitter looks at each other, but neither of them responded.

Now that he had the floor, Michael lowered his voice and continued, "When you are pranked, you receive it _graciously_ , Zach. And Heather, in a _family_ , you support each other's goals and various endeavor-like ventures. You do _not_ post gay porn on their profiles, no matter _how funny it is_!"

Heather muttered something under her breath, but otherwise, did not protest.

Michael exhaled. "And as much as I hate to say it, we probably need to include H.R. in this issue," he said, though the words tasted foul in his mouth. "So… Zach, get out of my office. Heather, go back to _your_ office. Don't _talk_ , to each other. Not a word."

As soon as he was finished, Zach, still scowling strongly, turned on his heel and stormed out.

The door was left open behind him, and through it, Ginny watched Michael with big eyes, and he back at her. Michael looked at Heather nervously, but she didn't look back — her head down slightly, knuckles white on the desk, jaw set. She didn't look as playful now.

Truthfully, in all his years in an office environment, Michael had never witnessed a prank gone quite like this.

And he had seen a lot of pranks.

* * *

 _ **Insert subplot that was supposed to be sexually charged except I was too gay to make it realistic. Literally so many of my childhood flirtations with boys were along these lines (with less language, of course). Maybe Heather is just a repressed lesbian, idk.**_


	44. A Little Home for Me

**Chapter XLIV**

 **A Little Home for Me**

* * *

 _I was a little girl,_

 _Alone in my little world,_

 _Who dreamed of a little home for me…_

\- "Dream" by Priscilla Ahn.

* * *

One week of unemployment complete, and Holly had already "gotten back out there." Her mom kept saying it was so early to return to the saddle, but to Holly, seven empty days had felt like an eternity.

She'd already watched more daytime television than was justified for a non-senior, and she'd run out of laundry to do around Tuesday. She'd finished reading her book, and did a lot of yoga, and had learned the whole neighborhood just from jogging every day. She'd even made dinner on Thursday, and she hated cooking. She was running out of things to do — even the boring things.

Michael told her to enjoy this time off, because once she was working again, she was going to miss it. And he had a point; she could use this period to spend more time with her dad, and to help her mom out with things around the house. And she could enjoy herself, even… if she applied herself.

And alcohol helped.

It wasn't really for her, although Holly had intended to have a glass. Her mom had broken out the wine as soon as dinner was in the oven — Holly was only joining in. With as much time as they were spending together, the only thing that could make their relationship any better was to loosen up and not be at each other's throats for five minutes. And her mom was way more fun tipsy.

Right now, for example — she was still laughing, and Holly had forgotten why.

"Mom," Holly said over a chuckle, setting her glass down on the counter. "Are you okay?"

"No!" Mom said, giggling wildly. "I'm picturing it now!"

Holly raised her eyebrows. "Picturing what?"

"You, in a college dorm!" she squeaked as she drained the last of her glass. "Pinning up chore wheels, and patrolling the building for w-weed…"

Now she remembered. About ten minutes ago, before the laughter and incoherent mumbling had begun, they'd been discussing college.

"Ha-ha," Holly said, smile fading slightly as she leaned back on her barstool. "I'm not _that_ bad."

"You'd be a pain in the _ass_!"

"Mom!" she protested indignantly. "Thank you — that's so sweet."

"But you should _do_ it," Mom amended with narrowed eyes, pressing her fist lightly to the countertop. "You should! You should; you always took the safe route, growing up, and I think you should do something dangerous."

Holly blinked at her mother for a moment, and looked down into her glass absently. "You think it's dangerous?" she asked. The idea sounded both frightening and exciting at the same time — Holly wasn't even really considering it, but her mom pushed it anyway.

"Well," her mother said, shrugging. "It's not as solid as sticking with H.R., but damn, Hol, you just don't _like_ it."

"I like it," Holly argued.

Mom just chuckled. "Sure, you do. And you've had a solid job in one place for years on end, and made bunches of friends and gotten plenty of promotions."

At that, Holly scowled, and took the empty glass away from her, stowing it away on the other side of the counter. "You're a mean drunk," she complained, half-joking.

"I'm not drunk," Mom said right off the bat, lifting a finger up. "I'm just tipsy enough to tell you the truth, and that's why you should listen to me. Go back. Quit the snoozefest that is binders and policy-stuff."

"Not _yet_ ," she insisted gently. Her voice lowered. "Maybe after the move, and the wedding and stuff."

"Before kids?"

Holly opened her mouth, but she hesitated in consideration — because she hadn't really thought about that. "I… guess so," she admitted. But doing the math in her head, she pressed her lips together, shrugging. "I mean, maybe not, you know? It's four years of school, plus a first year of the job to get started… Maybe I could wait five years."

Mom's eyebrows were raised, in disbelief. "Really? I mean, honey, you'll say that _now_ , but when you're in the middle of that second year and you have friends who are having kids in their twenties… you might change your mind."

They were both quiet at that, the mood sobered by her astute observation — one probably coming from experience, since her mom had given birth to Holly at such a young age. Holly didn't want to agree with her, but she did.

"So then afterward," Holly decided, shrugging again. "I can wait. When our kids are going to school every day, I'll have the time-"

"And you want four kids?"

"Yeah, Mom."

"So you're gonna work H.R. for — what? Ten more years?"

"I don't know, Mom," she said suddenly, and threw her hands up, dropping them down on the counter. "What's your solution? Take out student loans before we're even married?"

Mom looked up from her phone finally, eyes distant. She yawned. "I don't know. Do what you want."

Holly furrowed her brow. "You can't just tell me a bunch of things _not_ to do and not give me alternatives!"

"Well, I'm too drunk to think of good ideas… but it should say something if I can tell your ideas are bad even when I'm _drunk_ ," Mom pointed out while her gaze drifted over Holly's shoulder momentarily. She slumped onto her elbows, letting out a long sigh before she let out in a sing-song tone, "Michael's here."

At that, Holly felt her shoulders perk up, and her downcast expression lifted slightly. She resisted the urge to turn around and see his car pulling in — instead, focusing on her mom. "I don't know! I don't know. I just don't wanna be too tied up with school to help with Dad, or to take care of my kids… Maybe I just missed the boat on this one."

"You missed no boat," her mother insisted, shaking her head. "Your dad is still in fair shape and you aren't pregnant yet, so… Just consider it as you're coming up on the fall — see how it goes."

"But Michael-" Holly began, but stopped — and she then glanced over her shoulder to check out the living room window. He was just now getting out of his car, so she lowered her voice as she continued; "Michael is really excited about this big wedding, and for that to happen, we need _money_."

Mom wrinkled her forehead. "Your father and I are paying for your wedding."

"Not all of it," she argued, and on this she was firm, no matter how many times her mom fought back. "I told you that."

"You're our only daughter!"

" _Mom_!"

Her mother didn't seem to understand this scolding at first, but quickly put her hand up. "Besides — besides your sister, but her wedding's… gonna cost fifty dollars worth of liquor and _maybe_ a tattoo. Your wedding is gonna be our only _real_ wedding."

Holly stuck her tongue in her cheek, and smiled. "Well, maybe I want fifty dollars of liquor and a tattoo. What do you think of that?"

"Well, Holly," Mom almost said with a straight face, as she leaned forward on the counter with her hand gripping at the empty air where her glass had been once upon a time, her eyes narrowing on her "only daughter" with such fierceness that Holly was expecting a serious remark…

Then her mother burst into laughter, so hard that her face fell down into her folded arms, head shaking with her shoulders. She squeaked again, giggles unruly in a way that Holly had never witnessed without the presence of alcohol, and her whole body wracked with such wild amusement at the mere idea of Holly doing something "edgy." Holly didn't know if she should laugh or protest.

"I could be serious," Holly tried in vain over the noise of her mother's cackling. At least while her head was down, Holly could confiscate the rest of the alcohol — and she slid off the barstool to go put it away, muttering to herself, "I could do something crazy one day, and you'd-"

Mom let out a sound that was near sobbing at that, because it just tickled her _so much_. Holly gave up on trying to talk to her.

She rinsed out their glasses in the sink, including the last bit that Holly hadn't drunk — having attempted to keep a clear mind as she thought about these things, which evidently had not been a goal for her mother. Through the window, she peeked over at the driveway, to find that Michael had already abandoned his car. And that meant he'd be here momentarily…

And that put a smile on her face.

Once she turned the water off, she could hear her mother cursing under her breath. "What's wrong?" Holly asked her as she dried her hands. Mom turned around with a huff.

"I think I forgot to set a timer," she muttered. Her expression was exhausted as well as affected by drink; it gave Holly the feeling that despite her good humor, her mother was losing her energy.

So she set her hand on Mom's shoulder and replied quietly, "I'll handle it."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will, so go," Holly said sternly, looking her mother in the eye. "Go upstairs, relax, be with Dad."

"But-"

"Please?" she cut her off, wearing a reassuring smile. Inwardly, she prayed that her mother was just drunk enough to listen to her but not too drunk to walk up the stairs.

Eventually, Mom's shoulders untensed. She stepped away from the counter with every reluctance and looked over her shoulder as she left. "Don't fuck up my chicken."

"I won't."

And somehow, that was enough to send her out of the room, and hopefully upstairs, too. As soon as she was gone, Holly turned back to the oven, opening it up to see what she was dealing with.

Nothing was burnt, so Holly guesstimated the cooking time and set a timer. If she was lucky, whatever her mother had done to the chicken would be salvageable. Mom had never cooked too well when she was "in a good mood," as her dad had put it sometimes.

She'd only been alone for maybe a minute before she heard the front door opening in the other room, which sent electricity up her arms and into her rolled-up sleeves, inching up her neck, into the back of her hair — and it was either the heat of the kitchen or something else that put a pink on her skin.

" _Holly Flax?"_ came Michael's voice, booming through the house. " _Your order of hugs and kisses is ready for pickup!"_

Holly placed the lid back on the pot of green beans, shaking the water off her hand, and instantly started out of the kitchen toward his voice.

" _Looking for a Holly Flax!"_ Michael announced, when he knew the whole house would hear. " _There's an order of hugs and kisses waiting for a Miss Holly Flax!"_

Then he appeared in the doorway just as she was coming around, and she stopped, smiling. "That's me," she replied, looking him up and down in his suit and tie, with his briefcase still in hand. "How much'll it be?"

Michael raised his eyebrows, head shaking. "This one's on the house," he said in a quieter voice. He set his briefcase down on the back of the chair and reached out for her. "Dining in or carry-out?"

Holly glanced into his eyes briefly, and pursed her lips. "I'm curious to see what 'carry-out' means."

At first, he just smiled; his gaze wandered just for an _instant_ before returning to her face with a new hint of mischief. He closed the space between them in one stride and slung his arms around her — Holly was expecting a hug. But then his hands swept down under her legs and he hoisted her right up into the air, to her great surprise.

" _Oh-_ Micha-"

But she couldn't get the words out before Michael kissed her, pulling her tight to his chest and actually stumbling back a few steps; she grabbed the back of his shirt and wrapped her legs around his waist to keep her balance. Her breath caught on a wide smile as she kissed him back, humming quietly. He kissed her again, and her eyebrows shot up.

"Mm," Holly said between muffled breaths until she could tear herself away. When she opened her eyes, she found relief on his face. "I love you."

"I love you more," Michael breathed, refusing to let her down. "I… have had a very long day, and I missed you."

She frowned. "Me, too. You should have texted me."

"I figured you'd be busy," he said; and he turned to set her down on the back of the chair beside them, pushing his briefcase out of her way. "How did job searching go?"

Holly made a face at that, and drew him in between her knees. "I got an interview for Monday, but other than that, nothing."

"Aw," Michael mumbled, but he didn't seem too sad about it, as he was already heading in for her lips. She grinned and let him kiss her again.

When they parted, Holly whispered, "How was _your_ day?"

"Yuck," he complained instantly, expression sour but fading quickly. "Oswald from H.R. is still sick, so nothing is getting resolved between Heather and Zach, and that makes things awkward for me and Ginny — because we're both friends with them, you know? So that kinda stinks."

"That does stink," she agreed, nodding. Her forehead landed on his, eyes soft as she examined his nose. "Did you finish your presentation?"

Michael brushed a kiss on her lips, and smiled. "Mostly. Just gotta do some coloring stoof. Make it all pretty."

"Can I help?" she asked, voice lowered to a point of near-sultry, a bit too excited about this. Michael quirked up an eyebrow.

"Sure," Michael said. "Um… why? It won't be fun."

Holly sighed heavily, shoulders sinking. "I haven't worked in weeks. I'm desperate."

Something about that made him smile; he chuckled. "Well, I'll take all the help I can get…" he said as he looked down into her lap, hands sliding down her sides. "But you know what I wanna do now?"

"Mom's here," Holly interrupted, pressing her lips together regretfully.

Michael furrowed his brow. "You- hey, you don't even know what I was gonna propose."

"Oh, yeah?" she asked smartly. "Does it involve undressing?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh."

"A _bath_ ," Michael explained. "Unless you wanna get our clothes all wet."

She smiled at his teasing, and as good as the idea sounded, her expression sobered. She set her hands on his hands on her hips with a sigh. "I'm cooking tonight. Maybe afterward…"

Michael made a pouting noise through his nose. "No fair."

"You can help me, though," Holly offered, and her voice lowered as she leaned closer. "I'll wear my Pooh Bear apron."

His eyes widened at the idea.

"Well, sign me up."

* * *

 _ **Idk why I picked half the songs I did, but hell, I managed to find 100 songs so that's something. Anyway happy new week**_


	45. Show Me the Same

**Chapter XLV**

 **Show Me the Same**

* * *

 _I watched you suffer_

 _A dull aching pain,_

 _And now you've decided to show me the same._

\- "Wild Horses" by the Rolling Stones (cover by Liz Gillies)

* * *

"What if she doesn't show up?"

He stopped pacing just to ask this question, despite the fact that she'd _just_ asked him a question — because right now, this was all he could think about. Ginny was friends with the receptionist downstairs, and with Zach, sort of, so she _had_ to know something. "Did you ask Louise if she'd seen her?" Michael added, with a hint of desperation.

Ginny looked up from her notepad and shook her head. "Nope. And you didn't answer my question."

"I'll answer it in a minute!" Michael shot back, hands waving spastically. He began pacing again, this time at a more furious speed. "She's gotta be here, Gin — gin and tonic, ginger, gin-der-bent, tell me something. Tell me something… that'll make me calm down."

"I- o-okay," Ginny said, tugging on the ends of her long, long hair. "Um — and don't, don't call me any of those things, please-"

"Oh, just- take a joke, Ginderella," he snapped. Then he heard himself, and he stopped, turning back to her. "Sorry, sorry. I'm nervous."

"You can do the presentation without her." Ginny's expression was confused as she flipped back to the first page of her notes, and then looked up at Michael's computer. "None of this… is related to her, actually."

Michael shook his head. "That's not- I'm not worried about that. What I _am_ worried about, however, is they don't know me — nobody but George, because he hired me. They don't like me yet, but they like Heather! She has to open up for me. Otherwise, I am the juggling monkeys that go on before Bono."

"Bono?"

"Yes! And I need juggling monkeys of my own," Michael continued. He came to a stop in front of his desk, where Ginny sat, and set his hands on its edge. "The metaphor works, coincidentally, because Bono performs better than the monkeys, and my numbers are _way_ better than Heather's… Also, Bono is the person you actually come to see, and they're coming to sniff _me_ out — I don't feel like Bono is the right person for this metaphor."

"Yeah," Ginny agreed. Eyes on the computer screen, she then read, "'How do you plan on developing growth with CSFS?'"

He groaned, throwing his head back. "You are _not_ very good at talking me down, Ginny. I should have made a recording of myself. That would have been better."

Ginny seemed to give up at that and slumped over on her elbow. "You could tell me your jokes," she offered — and this was the first suggestion she'd made that actually sounded good.

"Okay," Michael consented, nodding quickly. "Yeah, I can try- well, no, I can't, though."

Ginny blinked. "Why not?"

"Well, they're mature jokes," he said as he pushed off the desk. "Twenty-one and up. I couldn't expose you to that."

Something about that didn't make sense to her. "Michael, if your jokes are 'too mature' for _me_ , are they really appropriate for the workplace?"

Michael's expression weakened, and his voice lowered as he muttered, "Okay, are you trying to piss me off today? Because you are succeeding."

"I'm just trying to help you prepare for th-"

" _-late. Is everything okay?"_

"-so if you could just try to focus-"

"Sh-sh-shh," Michael interrupted gently, holding up a finger as he closed his eyes. He listened to the faint voice down the hall — Oswald's voice, speaking to someone. Apparently, Oswald had decided to come in today.

" _I'm fine, just- excuse me!"_

He expected to hear the click of high heels, but instead, Heather must have been wearing flats — and she was moving fast, through the lobby and completely blowing past Zach, it seemed. Michael was surprised to hear no muttered remark toward Zach, but then, Heather sounded as if she was in quite a hurry.

"See?" Ginny mumbled. When he turned back to her, there was a brighter expression on her face. "She's here. Now we can get focused."

"D'you think Oswald's gonna file the report today?"

She literally dropped the mouse in surrender.

Michael couldn't help himself for asking; after all, Oswald had been "too sick" to come in last week, or even this weekend, when they needed him most. From what Heather had implied on Friday, nothing had changed between her and Zach — she still wasn't going to threaten him with charges for harassment, and he still wasn't going to report her to H.R. for missing time at work. They seemed determined to resolve this in no formal way. Instead, they continued to push each other's buttons.

All Michael could want for today was for Heather and Zach to keep out of each other's way long enough for he and Heather to impress their boss.

Now he was even more nervous. He resumed pacing, now at a jog. "Ask me a question," he finally agreed, shaking his head. "An easy one. Something to warm up with."

Ginny was visibly relieved by this and scrolled up on the page. "'What is your vision of change for your department, and how does it involve your coworkers and/or supervisors?'"

"Too hard," he said right off the bat. "Something else."

"Okay… 'If you could change or influence one aspect of your work environment this quarter, what would it be? Would this benefit others as well? Does it require funding?'"

Michael huffed a breath. "I'd fire Zach."

Ginny looked up at him, lips pursed. "I don't know if you should- why- why are you smiling?"

He stopped momentarily, unaware that he was smiling — but he was, subconsciously, and not because he was happy. "I don't- Holly told me to smile. I guess I was just- you know what? Doesn't matter. Next question."

She chuckled, but continued anyway. "'What new activities or projects would you like to take on in the future?'"

Michael opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by a loud shout erupting from across the hall. He jumped, and turned to peek out the open door — and then back at Ginny. "Was that-"

He jolted again when a door was thrown open, slamming back against the wall. Heather was a flash of color as she burst into the hallway. Michael nearly addressed her until she let out her own greeting. " _ **Zach**_ _!"_

His head flew back toward Ginny, who looked _very_ nervous. "Um…" Michael began, biting on his lip. He looked back toward the door. "Should we-"

Something slammed.

" _What are you-"_

"-check on that? Let's-"

"Probably," Ginny agreed as she shot up from his desk chair and shoved it back. She rounded the desk, leading the charge as Michael followed behind and out of the room. He chewed on his cheek as more violent noises filled the air, rounding the hallway…

"Holy-" Michael started — because before him, Heather had her hands on Zach — and _not_ in the sexy way. She held him by the collar of his shirt and actually had him backed against the wall, her other hand perched in punching position. Zach made little effort to fight back and only held her fist back.

"You guys!"

" _What do I have to do_ -"

"Get off me!" Zach shouted, but he couldn't effectively push her off him and only managed to get her to shift her forearm across his collarbone.

"What do I have to _do_ ," Heather snapped under her breath, "to get you to leave me the _hell alone_?"

"Guys!" Michael interrupted as he approached hurriedly; Ginny cut in front of him toward Heather. "Stop fighting! Get off him!"

"You're insane," Zach muttered though she pressed on his throat.

Heather gave him a shove. "You deleted it, you stupid piece of _shit-_ "

" _Hey!_ " Michael shouted. " _What_ is going _on_?"

Heather spared him nothing this time, knocking his head back on the wall — and then Zach threw her back a few feet and back into Ginny, who promptly grabbed her around the waist. Heather's eyes widened in seeking of pure blood, and she strained against Ginny's hold, elbowing her in the side. Ginny coughed _hard_ as the air was knocked out of her. "Let me-"

"Stop- _stop_ it!" Michael snapped as he stepped between Heather and Zach.

"Oh, you're _definitely_ getting fired now!" Zach shouted over Michael's head with half a laugh to boot.

Heather grimaced at him, struggling to get away from Ginny, who was also quite strong. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she muttered in a dangerously low voice. "All this is just to get me fired, right? You son of a bitch!"

"What happened?" Michael asked over both of them, hands extended to each of them in warning. His head whipped between the two of them as he awaited a response. "Are you _aware_ that our bosses are gonna be here any minute?"

"Oh, I'm definitely _aware_ ," Heather snapped, and looked past him. "Zach deleted my presentation. I didn't have it backed up. It's gone!"

"You can't prove that!"

" _Zach_ ," Michael said, turning toward the man with wide eyes. "What- I don't even know, _why_ you would do that. What is your problem? You don't just mess with someone's job like that!"

"I agree," Zach replied, and looked past him. On the other side, Heather actually laughed.

"You're still bent up over the pictures?" she asked incredulously. Her expression was almost humorous. "It was a _joke_. Are you really so brain-dead that you took a joke as an attack?"

"Heather!" Ginny harped out of nowhere, grabbing all their attention. "That is not professional. Cut it out."

"Oh, tell me about what's professional-"

"You're acting like a five-year old!"

" _He deleted my presentation like a fucking five-year-_ "

"You started _all_ of this!"

"You _guys_!" Michael screamed, his temper lost, and he threw his hands out. "You guys, you guys, you g-"

"Are you _seriously_ -"

"Okay, _**shut up!**_ " he said, reaching a vocal level he'd never discovered — and that quieted them down one at a time. " _Shut it! Shut. It._ Shut it!"

"-ridiculous," Heather finished, and that was the last word that was spoken among the three. All eyes landed on Michael.

Once they were finally quiet, Michael could hear the sound of his own heavy breathing, overwhelmed by this chaos and the arguing and Heather trying to get at Zach physically and Zach trying to get at Heather verbally and this whole big _mess_ and…

And a couple of the other workers had stepped out of their offices to see this — only a couple, as if some of them had become used to this disastrous behavior — and watched him now, expectantly. Not among these people was Oswald, the one person they actually needed.

"Michael," Ginny said after a period of silence.

"This," he began, voice lowered to just their vicinity. He looked into Heather's eyes, and then Ginny's, and then over at Zach — and he took a deep breath. "This is just a mess."

"I agree-"

"No, shut it, Zach!" Michael said sharply, throwing a hand up in his direction. "I don't want anyone to speak. This is embarrassing. This is the _worst_ , ever."

No one responded. Ginny looked back at the hallway.

Michael shook his head slowly. "I came here new after working for almost twenty years at the same office. I grew to know and love those people — the ones that were younger than me, like you guys, and the ones that were older than me — and the ones that were black, and the ones that were of Indian descent, and those of many more colors. And these were some of the most different people, but yet they all had something common. Do you know what that thing was?"

Again, no one had an answer. But Michael could work with a tough audience.

"They were _kind_ ," Michael answered himself. "They weren't always mature, and they played pranks, and they had some sexual relationships which ended poorly — but they were always… at least cordial, and better than this. _Way,_ freaking better than this. They were champs, and you guys…"

Heather's eyes widened.

Michael sighed. "You guys are just sad. You don't like each other, and you don't try to. You do mean, hurtful things to each other — and you know what? It doesn't have to be like that," he offered, looking back and forth at Zach and Heather. "I mean, we all know the heart behind this. It doesn't take a genius to see that, Heather… you really just don't want Zach to go. So you sabotage his profile with graphic images of homosexual things of a sexual nature… _porn_ , and- Zach, you don't want Heather fired, either. You're just trying to get her to focus more on her job and less on going out with guys who aren't _you_."

Zach and Heather remained mysteriously quiet. Michael nodded at them both. "Right?" he asked, not really needing agreement. "And instead of expressing it like normal people do, you act like this, which is just silly. It's _silliness_ , and absurdity, which in this case is not a good thing."

He was interrupted by the ringing phone at Zach's desk, which could only mean one thing. The whole room seemed to freeze.

Michael swallowed, his throat achy from shouting, and muttered, "And if _that_ doesn't matter to you, you're also probably gonna get us all fired… so maybe think about that before you do or say anything else." Then looking at Zach, he added, "Go get the phone."

Zach hastened past the frozen Heather and Ginny and leaned over for his phone, picking it up with hesitation. At this point, Ginny elected to release Heather from her death-grip. Heather tugged her shirt back down with only slight irritation.

Once Ginny was away from the situation, Michael whispered to her, "Can you go find Oswald, if he's still here?"

"Sure thing," Ginny said, a bit stilted, as if he had affected her with his speech. Michael watched her turn to go, hoping this affectation was a good thing.

Michael didn't have to try to listen to his whispering to know what Zach was hearing, just from the look on his face. George and co. had arrived. Heather must have known it, too, because she was out of the scene entirely, her office door shutting down the hall.

The only real feeling Michael had from all this was that he was going to need to be Heather's juggling monkeys, _for sure_ this time.

* * *

 _ **Oh, I remember who Zach and Heather were based on. Hm. Anyway I think this plot was supposed to make Michael realize how much he missed Scranton but again idk what 16-y/o me was thinking, ever.**_


	46. I Wanna Get Off and Go Home

**Chapter XLVI**

 **I Wanna Get Off and Go Home**

* * *

 _Stop this train;_

 _I wanna get off and go home, again._

\- "Stop This Train" by John Mayer.

* * *

"Ooh, the Yankee Candle store. We could go sniff candles."

"Yeah, and hey — that's right by the Super Target, so…"

"Home Goods! Let's go there, too. We can get some things for our color scheme!"

"Yes, we can. And, and also- on the way back, we can stop at Target."

"Starbucks," Holly read too, after a complete scan of the board. She then identified the different stores on the map overhead. "Feel like coffee?"

Behind her, Michael made the tiniest bouncing movement on his heels, already anxious about something else — and she had to wonder if he even needed the caffeine. "Sure!" he said, giving her hand a tight squeeze. "And then after that, and the candles and the color scheme stuff, we can go to Target, because of the sale, remember?"

Holly smiled and peeked back at him. "I remember," she said. "But we were considering some other options, too."

His eyes lit up at this challenge; Michael lifted his finger to explain. "Well, I looked at the sales page while we were parking, and it's actually one of the best sales in the whole store, so I think we oughta at least _check it out_."

"That's true," Holly said, biting her lip. "But what if we have guests? I don't think everyone finds bean bags as comfortable as you do."

Michael furrowed his brow. "Who doesn't like bean bags? Huh? I wanna meet that person, and… give them a talking to — can we just- but hey, what if they match the color scheme?"

She opened her mouth to argue that this still wouldn't fit too well with their living room design… but she stopped herself there.

Michael had been making this one effort all evening, ever since she'd picked him up from work. She knew that shopping wasn't the first thing he'd wanted to do, especially for "boring things" like wall decorations and cup coasters — nevertheless, they needed another chair to fill up their future living room. This could have waited for the weekend, yes, but Holly, in her infinite unemployment, could _not_.

But despite the fact that this was not his favorite way to spend the day, Michael had kept a bright attitude, with the one catch — that he was desperate for a bean bag chair. He'd owned one before Jan had thrown it out, and now, he wanted to find a new one. Normally, Holly would have been honest about her disagreement.

Seriously, she would have.

But since work had exploded on him on Monday, he'd been stuck in perpetual puppy-dog eyes, and she found she couldn't say "no" to that. That's why they'd eaten at Red Robin today, even though she was allergic to sesame seeds and couldn't eat any of their burgers. Newsflash: Red Robin was a _burger place_.

She just really wanted him to be happy.

"If we find one that matches the color scheme-"

"Yes!"

"-and it looks _nice_ ," Holly added, but Michael was hardly listening beyond that point, "then I think it'd be okay."

Michael hooked her in from behind and gave her a big kiss on the cheek, right in the middle of the mall — literally, they were at the direct center of the whole place. "A'thank ya," he whispered in his Chip and Dale voice, sounding very excited. Then he transitioned right into his Elvis impression. "Thank ya a lot."

She grinned at him sideways, muttering, "Uh-huh-huh."

That brightened his expression even more; he squeezed his arms around her. "You're the best fiancee ever."

"No, you ah," Holly said with a smile. Turning around to look him in the eyes, she added, "Because you're gonna suffer through the girly stuff with me… right?"

"Yesh," he confirmed, only the slightest hint of dread in his tone. He took her hands and peeked at the map behind her. "But it's going to require a healthy helping of cake pops."

Holly's eyebrows shot up. "Sounds like a plan."

His smile grew wide, like a little kid, and he lightly drew her away by the hand. She followed behind him as he headed away from the sign and toward the Starbucks, fingers tangled in his in a way that felt firm — warm and secure, as if she could rest in peace knowing he was never, _ever_ going to let go.

Only at this point in her life, at this age and through these huge life-changing moments, did she fully realize how much she needed that.

She'd been thinking about A.J. lately, now that the deal was closed on the apartment and they only had less than a week before they'd be living together, _alone_ , again. But she was working through it, piece by piece, bit by bit, with much thanks due to Michael and his patience.

He hadn't pushed her to do anything or even to talk about it, but she'd found herself doing it anyway. They'd talked a few times, just getting all the past out in the open — no matter how much it turned her stomach to just _think_ about it, and him — and afterward, she always felt better. Her mom had encouraged her to really take this "moving-in-together" thing by the horns, to _make herself_ engage with it. So she was shopping, and planning, and putting things together…

And it wasn't so scary now. It was exciting.

"All righty-tighty," Michael said, interrupting her thoughts. They had just now reached Starbucks, finding a place in the second line; while they waited, Michael examined the menu overhead. "Tighty-whiteys. What would the lady like?"

"Chai," Holly answered without having to think.

"A hot chai," he confirmed, nodding. "Hot chai with a hot guy."

She smiled at that, lowering her voice. "With a _very_ hot guy," she said playfully, as she leaned in just close enough to kiss his cheek. Michael smiled.

"I am hot," Michael agreed with a nod. "A hot tamale, if you will."

Holly wrinkled her eyebrows. "Wow. A _hot tamale_ ," she whispered. Her eyes wandered toward the line in front of them, which now moved. She guided him forward. "And what am I?"

Michael seemed troubled by that, pausing for a long moment. He blinked at her in thought. "You're a… a hot- a hot potato- no." His eyes widened. "You're not a potato. You're much thinner. You're…"

She grinned, listening intently as he struggled for an answer. It was adorable, to see him flounder over something like that — to see him get nervous. "Mhm?"

His smile faded. "A hot… pocket? Because you're so hot, that you just… burn my… mouth…"

Holly finally caved, chuckling at him; she stretched up to kiss his lips. "I love you," she muttered as she drew back.

"I love you too," Michael whispered. His fingers wiggled between hers silently, and his eyes wandered up toward the menu above them, even though he'd already decided what he wanted. She watched his face, just observing the features, like a fine art — because he _was_ a fine art — the Picasso of paper salesman.

"And I love your face," Holly added, because this was important information.

"I love your f- _hot chili pepper_!"

This was a loud exclamation to make in the middle of a mall, in the middle of the Starbucks, in the middle of a bunch of people standing in line — and Holly instantly blushed, giggling at him. "Michael-"

"You're a hot chili pepper!" he continued almost as loudly, very excited by his idea. "Because you're so small and _spahcy_."

She shoved him lightly, her whole face becoming pink as she considered all the eyes on them. To avoid eye contact with those around her, she turned her face toward his shoulder. "Michael Scott, the whole mall is looking at us," she whispered in complete amusement while she stifled laughter.

"Well, you _are._ "

"Michael!" Holly exclaimed softly, biting down on her lip to hide her smile. Michael seemed really pleased to have tickled her and craned his neck down to kiss her hair. She blushed.

Holly used to be such an upstanding citizen, who never disrupted anything or got any attention, never showed PDA, and _certainly_ never had her ass grabbed while walking into a Red Robin — and then she'd met Michael.

"I can take someone over here!"

And now she felt like a teenager all over again. Except she hadn't been a very wild teenager, so this was probably even better.

And there was his hand on her back as they stepped forward to the counter, which made her feel so warm inside. She reached out to grab his hand in hers again, sending a smile at the cashier, who seemed less than indifferent toward them. Michael nodded at her.

"Hiya. How are you doing today?"

"I'm doing good…"

Holly tuned them out for a moment as she watched another worker at the counter as he mixed some iced drink, her mind moving absently. Michael made small talk with the girl at the counter while Holly's thoughts wandered. His fingers grazed along the edges of her palm in light ministrations.

She had to wonder if he was just distracted from his problems, or if he could really be this happy.

"That'll be $10.95."

She looked up from their hands to see Michael sliding the credit card over, while the cashier placed the desserts on the counter. Holly picked them up, taking a peek inside at his birthday cake pops — he'd ordered an extra caramel pop for her. She smiled to herself.

"All righty," Michael said, squeezing her hand. "Let's go find a place to sit."

Holly nodded and gladly walked with him, past the counter, toward the sitting area in the center of the mall. A bunch of plushy-looking couches, comfy armchairs, and shiny coffee tables filled the coffee shop area, so that she wasn't sure where to sit.

Suddenly, Michael locked in on a loveseat a few feet away, and Holly let him lead the way.

"This looks suitable," he announced, still oblivious to his volume. Michael drew her forward and swung her around, escorting her to her seat. Holly sat down, grinning up at him.

"What a gentleman."

Michael smiled as he settled in beside her. "I try."

His arm came around her shoulder. Holly snuggled closer into his side, her free hand slipping into his pocket comfortably while the other gripped at their bag of goodies. Opening the bag, she looked up at him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Shall we?"

"Absolutely," Michael mumbled; and his head came down atop hers, a large sigh escaping his body. As soon as he'd sat down, his body had relaxed in a way that could only be the precursor to an evening nap. She could sense that without a quick dose of caffeine, she'd be dragging him through the rest of the shopping today.

So she pulled out a pink iced bite of birthday cake on a stick and prayed it was enough to save him. Turning her head to look up, she held up the dessert, waving it in front of his nose. Michael immediately took a bite.

His face changed with pure delight as he nodded emphatically, eyes squeezed shut. Holly chuckled.

They both indulged in their food as well as a good minute of silence, then, while Holly watched his chin overhead. "Hey," she said to catch his attention. When he met her eyes, she whispered, "Are you okay?"

He nodded quickly, replying through a full mouth, "No, yeah. Yeah."

Holly's eyelids lowered sleepily. "Do you wanna talk about work now?"

He'd been putting off the topic for hours, and she found herself eager to get it out of him. It wasn't that she needed to know anything in particular — just to get a feeling for what he was feeling. He was clearly trying to distract himself from it.

"Work is sucky," Michael admitted with a sigh. "I don't really feel like talking about it."

Holly frowned, and settled her head back into his shoulder. "Okay…"

"I mean, they apparently liked my presentation," he continued anyway. "Heather's gonna give hers via the internet, so that's that… She and Zach got reported anonymously."

"Oh, yikes," Holly breathed.

"Yeah," Michael said right back. "So now, they're facing punishment. It'd be a wonder if Zach didn't lose his job."

Furrowing her brow, she asked, "I thought you didn't like him?"

"I don't!" he insisted. "And he really doesn't like me, but Heather likes him, and I think they'd be good together. I wanna be their cupid, you know? I'm a good cupid!"

This was not an unexpected reaction; Holly withheld a chuckle. "Well, if they're supposed to be together, they'll be together — whether or not he's fired."

"I know, but you know, I'd love to be the one responsible for it. I gotta snag this before _fate_ can get all the credit."

At this point, he'd powered through his first pop, so Holly pulled out the chocolate pop. "Do you have any idea who reported them?" she asked curiously.

Michael shrugged. "It could be anyone. Well, anyone except Oswald, who's the biggest baby of an H.R. worker I've ever seen." Then lowering his voice, he added, "Apparently, human resources is pretty P.O'd that this 'discourse' between Heather and Zach went so long unreported. He might get canned."

"Well, he ought to be," Holly agreed, half-indignantly. She took a bite out of her cake and chewed it considerately. "I mean, your job is to document and aid in resolving interpersonal conflict. You can't be afraid of confrontation."

"Exactly," Michael said, with one big sigh. "I've never _been_ in a workplace like this. No one really knows each other from across the halls — people don't help each other or visit each other. Even the pranks are mean-spirited, and I didn't think anything could make me dislike a prank. These people are ruining my favorite things!"

Holly stopped chewing for a moment to look up at him, or mainly at his chin since he was currently studying something on the table in front of them. She frowned, and turned to kiss his neck. "I'm sorry, honey… You know, not many offices are as close-knit as Dunder Mifflin was — especially not big places in the city."

"Do cities just suck the fun out of people?" he asked without missing a beat, pulling her in tighter. "It's like no one even wants to get along, or has any passion for what they're doing — it's so… _depressing._ "

To hear that coming from Michael Scott, the man who had once loved his work and coworkers more than half his family members, the man who was full of passion and ambition for everything he did — or chose to do — or enjoyed doing — was a bit soul-crushing.

She didn't want him to be sad.

So Holly set down her cake to reach her other arm around his waist and give him one big hug, tight enough that he had to smile. Then once he had been sufficiently hugged, she sat up straight enough to kiss his cheek, one hand on his face to hold him there. At first, his eyes still pouted; so she kissed up his cheek tenderly — allowed her lips to create a love-trail in a few different directions, until he let out a huff of a laugh. Then she pulled back to look him in the eyes.

" _I'm_ passionate," she said seriously. Her gaze wandered between his eyes as she let a tiny breath out — and her eyes slipped down to his lips. "About you."

Michael pressed his smile down as he looked at her for a long moment. She couldn't tell if he was pretending to be suave to mask his happiness or just making love to her with his eyes, but either way, her stomach did a flip.

The bag of cake pops tumbled down his lap, as his arms swept her up to his lips, kissing her softly at first. His mouth melted against hers, a caramel-birthday cake flavor, his eyes drifting shut, his hand gliding down her side to settle under her hip. Holly kissed him harder, and her chin lifted, and her nose brushed against his. His other hand traced a light line from her hairline to the collar of her shirt…

She'd almost forgotten where they were, until a loudspeaker announcement brought them back to reality. Holly released him hesitantly — reminded herself that they would have a place of their own in six short days.

She was just very passionate about him.

* * *

 _ **Someone call the dork police.**_


	47. Click, Boom! Then It Happens

**Chapter XLVII**

 **Click, Boom! Then It Happens**

* * *

 _No one really knows how the parties get to yes,_

 _Or pieces that are sacrificed in every game of chess —_

 _Click, boom! Then it happens…_

 _But no one else was in the room where it happens._

\- "The Room Where It Happens" by Hamilton Cast.

* * *

The office was never before this quiet — especially not during lunch.

Michael would not have normally struggled with this, as he and Ginny had found that, despite her quiet nature and his lack of responsibility, they had a lot of common interests, _especially_ in cinema. Since they'd acquainted themselves, Michael had had no trouble finding a topic to discuss, even if he was the one to start every discussion.

But no matter how many conversation starters were queued up in his mind, he couldn't bring himself to break this overwhelming silence. It felt like sacrilege to the seriousness of the situation down the hall.

He glanced down at his watch, once more.

"Fifty-five minutes," Michael muttered as he dropped his wrist back to the table. The only words spoken now were to keep time, which they'd been doing for fifty-three minutes. He and Ginny peeked down the hall at the farthest door, both suspended in a nervous silence.

After three days of interviewing, reviewing, and taking it up to management, the verdict for Heather, Zach, and Oswald would be officially given. Bets were being placed amongst a few coworkers in the first hall, as well as some people who had caught wind of the issue upstairs. Until today, Heather had been eating up the attention — giving little tidbits of discussions, her own predictions, and even acting around to throw off bets by pretending to cry, cussing under her breath, or cleaning off her desk. But her attitude was changed when she came into work this morning.

This was rumored to be the first time Zach and Heather had been in the same room since the fight. Oswald was actually here today, and in the room as well. Apparently, it did not bode well for his job that they had brought in a second H.R. rep from upstairs, either.

"Did you put down for anyone?"

Michael looked over at Ginny, whose voice was now reduced to an anticipative whisper. He furrowed his brow. "No one's getting fired."

He'd been affirming this all week, but his faith was starting to fade.

"Oh," Ginny said simply, biting on her cheek.

After a moment, he admittedly replied, "It's looking like Zach, though, right? I mean, someone's going down for the big show, and he's just a secretary."

"Plus the porn on his LinkedIn," she supplied.

He grimaced. "And the porn… yeah…"

Ginny shook her head. "I dunno. With all the work Heather's been missing, you know — and her presentation apparently wasn't so charming. Did you hear?"

That was worrisome, but Michael kept optimistic. "I didn't hear that."

"Oh. I did."

"Well, I don't wanna think about it anymore," he said suddenly, leaning back in his chair. The concern for his friend's job and for the future of his own was too doomy and gloomy — he needed to distract himself, the only way he knew. "Never have I ever peed in the ocean."

This was met with a long pause, as Ginny studied the door down the hall, and slowly, turned back to him. "Okay…" she said in confusion. "Did I say something that led into that?"

"Nope," Michael said. "It's Never Have I Ever. Let's play."

Ginny squinted, and mumbled, "But we don't have shots."

His eyebrows shot up; he nodded toward her Sprite. "We have sodas. Whoever finishes their soda first has to buy the other person something from the vending machine. Fair?"

She still seemed mightily flustered by this sudden challenge, but she reached out and shook his hand. "Deal. I've never peed in the ocean."

Michael furrowed his brow. "Never? The shower?"

"That's two questions," Ginny protested.

"My game, my rules. Never have I ever peed in the shower."

Ginny's lips were pursed at that, silent, before taking a sip of her drink.

He grinned evilly, and his evil witch voice came out of nowhere, "Yes, _yesss_ … My evil plan is _working_ …"

"My turn," Ginny said, seeming satisfied with herself nonetheless. She leaned on her elbows in thought for a moment, glancing down at her soda tab. "Never have I ever… cried at a movie theater."

Michael found that a little hard to believe. "What do you mean, you never cried at a movie? Everyone's cried at a movie."

Ginny just smiled, cocking up her chin confidently. Her eyes lowered to his drink, and up to his face, expectant. He sighed and took a long sip.

"Which movie?"

"A lot of movies, okay?" he protested, a bit annoyed at himself — the champion of this game, for never having ever done _anything_ interesting. "All right, lemme see, lemme see… Never have I ever owned a gun. Easy one."

Apparently it wasn't so easy, though, as Ginny eyed her drink and cautiously picked it up. Michael's eyes widened.

She took a sip.

"You own a _gun_?" Michael asked in complete amazement, and slight envy. "Why? Why do you have a gun?"

"I live in a bad part of town," Ginny admitted.

"It doesn't seem like you, though — I mean, not because you're a girl, but because you wear long skirts and have this hippie vibe and like… squirrels," he breathed, eyebrows lowered. He twisted his can in his hands, studying her, and couldn't help but ask, "Have you ever shot it?"

"Not your turn," she interrupted with a mysterious grin, and shoved her wavy, overgrown bangs back from her eyes. "I've got a good one. Never have I ever been given a lap dance."

This gave him pause, because he really didn't know if he should answer it or not. He turned his eyes on the hallway, quiet for a moment.

Eventually, he muttered, "Well, that's not fair. Girls don't get lap dances."

"Have you ever received a lap dance?" Ginny repeated insistently. "You have to answer, or the game is over."

"Yes, I have," Michael finally answered. "I've received multiple lap dances in my time."

Ginny's eyebrows rose as she watched him take a sip, and she leaned closer to lower her voice. "By strippers only?"

"Not your turn," he quipped.

"I've fired the gun," Ginny said instantly, knowing her audience. "Wanna know if I missed or not?"

And as reluctant as he was to comply, he really, _really_ did want to know…

So with a bit of embarrassment, he replied, "Two were from strippers. One was from my fiancee."

Her expression was like that of a child on Christmas day. She pressed her lips together. "That's hot."

"Yeah, well, I've given her one, too," Michael said with a shrug. "So if you wanted that picture in your head, now you've got it. Now did you shoot someone or did you miss?"

Ginny didn't seem eager to answer that one, either, but she played it off cool. "I just injured him. It was all I needed to do — _never have I ever_ _stolen_!"

"Who did you-"

"No more questions!" she cut him off, half-playfully. "Never have I ever stolen. Have you ever stolen?"

"But-" Michael began, though he stopped himself. "Gah, well, I've never… I _mean_. It depends on what you — does… dining and dashing count?"

Her eyes widened at him, and she flattened her palms on the table. " _Michael_."

"It was one time, _okay_ , and it was out of _necessity_ -"

A door opened down the hall, interrupting them without any trouble at all. They both froze and lifted their heads.

This was not the correct door, they quickly realized. Michael settled back down in his seat with a sigh. When Ginny sent him an incredulous look, he bit his lip nervously. "Hey, I was left without money or keys or a phone, and it was almost dinnertime, and I was _hungry_."

"Who left you without money or keys?" Ginny asked in subtle disbelief. "Were you mugged?"

"Practically," he exaggerated; but he quickly amended, "No, no, I wasn't. My friend had to go save his baby from the sun, so he drove off and left me in a gas station bathroom. Didn't find me for hours."

"That must have sucked," Ginny said under her breath. She seemed a little disappointed that he hadn't been mugged, but maybe that was in his head.

Michael shrugged, as he thought back on it. "Actually, it turned out to be the second-best day of my life, so… all's well that ends well."

This, too, visibly puzzled her, but she didn't ask any further questions. She took another anxious look down the hall, which perfectly embodied his same feelings. Michael, personally, tried not to look at the door — watched pots and whatnot. He just took a sip, since he had, in fact, "stolen."

It was a small sip, though, because he hadn't _shoplifted_ or anything…

Checking his watch again, Michael had to wonder what could have been taking so long. If Oswald or Zach were fired, it would have made for a much shorter meeting. If they were receiving corrective actions, that would make more sense — but still, not this long. He had to wonder if Heather was the one to get the boot.

That would suck, because she was the only person here besides Ginny whom he actually _liked._ Everyone else was either an acquaintance or merely tolerable, and they focused on their work, and didn't goof around. Maybe that was a good reason to get fired, but it was also a good reason for him to want her to stay.

"Your turn."

Ginny's expression was set with nerves. Evidently this limbo was getting to her, too.

"All right," Michael said, exhaling. He scratched his forehead. "Never have I ever…"

She watched him expectantly.

He bit his tongue, but had to say it anyway.

"… rolled over on my coworkers," he finished, eyes narrowed at her as he waited for her response. For a long moment, she just looked at him, though her jaw shifted slightly. He tilted his head patiently.

Without a word, Ginny lowered her eyes from his and took a sip.

Michael frowned. He'd had a feeling.

"Why?"

"Because they were acting unprofessionally," Ginny shot right back, all smiles gone and gaze downcast. "Heather doesn't work. She distracts you and treats Zach like crap and makes jokes about Oswald, and I just don't think she should get away with all that — even if she's your friend," she added pointedly.

Michael couldn't argue with any of these points, although he wanted to defend his friend, certainly. He just sighed loudly, inching down in his chair until his chin rested on the table. "Maybe this'll wake her up," he muttered.

And as if she had heard them discussing her, Heather opened the much-observed door at the end of the hall, stepping out for all to see. Instantly, Michael's head lifted from the tabletop. Ginny nearly knocked over her soda can. Their eyes both widened in silent observation.

After Heather came Zach, who shut the door behind them, without Oswald or George or the other H.R. rep — those three remained in hiding. Both of their faces were vacant, but in different ways. Zach looked like a man who had seen the face of God. Heather looked as though she'd witnessed a brutal murder.

Michael wasn't sure which situation was less likely.

"They look rough," Ginny observed as she studied the two.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah…"

Though they walked in almost unison, they didn't speak to each other or even exchange looks, but continued single-file down the hall. Heather, who had once upon a time claimed that she could charm her way out of this whole mess, did not look charming. The glare of her glasses could not hide the dry glaze of her eyes, staring straight at the floor ahead as she walked away from the crime scene. Her shoulders were stiff.

Behind her, Zach looked no more human than usual, but he was certainly humbled by something. If things had gone in his favor, he wasn't bragging about it — as though he pitied Heather for something. His shoulders were stiff.

As the hallway came to a turning point, Heather stepped out of Zach's way, allowing him down the rest of the way. She continued straight toward the break room, where Michael and Ginny didn't even pretend not to be staring at her with rapt attention. She didn't smile at them or make some gesture. She didn't frown, either.

"How'd it go?" Michael asked when she was close enough. She pulled out a seat at the table, silent for a moment as she sat.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she took a deep breath, and one hand raked through her hair anxiously. "Zach…"

Michael perked up instantly. "Yeah?"

At the peppy tone he caught, Heather looked up, sending him a lost glare as she whispered, "He defended me. Took the blame for everything."

That was not what he'd been expecting to hear.

"He did?" Ginny asked before he could.

"Why?" Michel asked.

Heather threw her hands up. "I have no idea. It was out of nowhere."

"Is he fired?" Ginny questioned instantly.

"Almost was," she said, eyes wide. "But his loyalty to the D.N.R. and his perfect attendance and all that stuff no one really gives a shit about? Apparently, George gives _quite_ a few shits."

As strange and unexpected as that was, Michael offered his hand in a high-five. "That's awesome!"

She didn't accept the high-five. After a moment, Michael wiggled his hand for her attention. Still, she ignored him.

"That's rude-"

"Oswald, though," Heather finally said, heaving one large sigh at this topic. She rubbed her palms down her face slowly. "He's… in there now, begging for his job."

Suddenly, the mood dropped ten degrees.

Ginny's voice was soft as she whispered, "He's _fired_?"

"He's gotten in trouble for this a few times, before either of you guys started working here," she explained regretfully. Taking Michael's drink from him with one swipe, she added, "Just a matter of time. It was hard to watch, though."

The table was silent in sympathy for the man; especially for Michael, although he'd never had a kind thought about his coworker. But he had been fired before, and it wasn't any fun at all — and from a company whose loyalty…

His eyebrows raised slowly.

"I hope he finds something better for him," Ginny said softly.

An idea had arisen.

"Like a new line of work?" Heather suggested. "Something that involves no people skills whatsoever."

"Hey, come on," she muttered. "He just lost his job."

Heather's eyes widened. "Well, he wasn't doing it right. It wasn't his job to keep — he couldn't _do_ it."

But Michael knew someone who could.

So tentatively, after a moment of silence for the fallen, he tried not to seem too eager as he asked, "So do they have a replacement for him yet or-"

"Michael!" Ginny snapped.

"Sorry!" he said instantly, waving his hands as he sat back. "I'll ask later. Never mind."

* * *

 _ **The fact that this is prefaced by a Hamilton song tells you about when this chapter was written. Thanks for reading.**_


	48. No Need to Say Goodbye

**Chapter XLVIII**

 **No Need to Say Goodbye**

* * *

 _I'll come back when you call me;_

 _No need to say goodbye._

 _Just because everything's changing_

 _Doesn't mean it's never been this way before._

\- "The Call" by Regina Spektor.

* * *

Holly wished they'd all stop calling it the "last game night", because it really wasn't. It was just the last time they'd all be going to bed in the same house afterward.

Monday was the big move, as exciting and terrifying as that was. Having been semi-dependent on her parents ever since they moved from Scranton, this life here — her future with Michael and the family they were going to make — everything had felt like one big vacation. At some point, it had hit Michael; subsequently, he had lapsed into a few nights of emotion as he thought about his old home. But to Holly, it still didn't seem real yet.

The closer it came to moving day, though, the tighter the feeling in her chest.

This wasn't a feeling of fear, however — or not a bad kind of fear. There was a small anxiousness about getting everything moved, and paying bills, and eventually finding a car, but beyond that, she wasn't terrified. Any of the old fears would come and go, but Michael was there to stay, and he would help her through. For that reason, this was almost a purely sweet shift.

It was her parents who worried her. She'd been sure they would be fine without her, but the more it was discussed, the less confident Mom seemed to be. Mom kept making all these sharp comments about Holly's leaving, and then laughing it off — and every time Holly tried to talk to her dad about it, he didn't seem interested, as if he didn't really understand what she was telling him.

Holly had forced herself not to make any excuses, to take little things and make them into big things. She was just afraid of her parents' resenting her. And her mom was using this guilt.

She was using it to make her _cook_.

"It's ready," Holly announced, looking up over her shoulder at her mother, who sat watching at the counter.

"You sure?" Mom asked, as always, with the sly peek over Holly's head. Ever since childhood, whenever her mother had allowed Holly to cook or to help cook, there had been this iconic "I-don't-think-you're-doing-this-right" look. Holly had at some point stopped letting this serve a blow to her self-esteem. Now it was just amusing.

"I'm sure," she said as she grabbed the oven mitts off the stovetop and slipped them over her fingers. She pretended not to feel her mother's stare, removing the pot pie from the oven rack smoothly. She set it on the nearest burner, the scent of chicken wafting up from the open oven door — and Holly sighed. As much as she loathed the kitchen, she did love the smell of a steamy dinner.

Behind her, Mom shifted on her barstool. Holly turned back to look at her, and caught a small smile on her face.

"What?" Holly asked cautiously, eyes narrowed.

Mom shrugged. "Nothing." Then, sipping the last of her water out of her wine glass, she asked under her breath, "Are you gonna cook for _Michael_?"

Shutting the oven, Holly dried the condensed steam off her palms, eyebrows wrinkled. "Sometimes, I guess. Sometimes he'll cook. We'll probably go out, too."

Then her mother made a little "humph" noise, which meant there was something else coming.

Holly turned back toward the counter and approached her mother. She leaned on the countertop, flattening her palms out on the surface. "What?" Holly asked seriously.

"You hated cooking when it was for us," Mom reminded her, still looking smug.

Holly grimaced, and muttered, "I still don't like it."

"Denial."

"If you say so," Holly replied in a sing-song tone; and she glanced subtly past her mother, out the window in the living room. "Besides, I didn't like _having_ to cook. I don't have to cook for him if I don't want to."

Mom's smile subsided for a moment, until her voice lowered. "But you want to."

Holly's jaw dropped slightly, and she looked away. "Okay… if I do, okay. What's your point?"

"I'm not teasing you, Hol," Mom insisted through grinning teeth as she leaned back in her seat. Her eyes were still set smartly as she added, "It's just cute, to see _you,_ the girl I've known her whole life, so absolutely smitten that she would cook for someone. _Voluntarily_."

"Believe it or not, Mom, I have _cooked_ for people."

"Holly," her mother said simply, expression dead-serious. She didn't have to say anything else; all she did was lower her eyes a few inches, down to Holly's chest. Holly followed her eyes down to the little Winnie the Pooh on her apron.

Holly's eyes met her mother's slowly, and she replied in a low tone, "I wear this because I like it."

Mom just chuckled at her, waving it off. Holly mock-scowled as she turned away and opened the cupboard to find a glass. She shut it back softly, trying not to disturb her father upstairs — who had been very sensitive to noise during his reading time, lately — and crossed the kitchen to get some water. All the while, she could hear her mother's silent thinking churn through the air…

Holly took a long sip of her glass, peeking over at Mom. Their eyes locked, and Mom's mouth opened slightly.

"Hol," she said softly, leaning on her elbow.

The serious voice she took concerned Holly, who froze. "What's wrong?"

Mom shook her head, looking down at the counter. "Just… I hope — well, just promise you'll visit us every once in a while."

That was all she said on the matter, leaving Holly completely startled at the random sadness. She smiled slightly as she set her glass on the counter. "Mom, you know we'll be here all the time. I moved here to spend time with you guys. That's not gonna change."

"I know," Mom shot back, then softened her tone. "I know that's why you came, but I also know that…"

Her voice trailed off.

And then, her mother, who never, ever, _ever_ bit her lip, because it was a horrible habit and it ruined lipstick and looked unprofessional and immature… bit down on her lip nervously.

Holly's expression dropped. "Mom," she said, reaching out for her mother's hand.

"I know that you love him," Mom said with a hint of tears at her smile. "And you're gonna get caught up in this, with him, and that's natural. I know that. Just promise… that you'll come back."

"Mom, listen to me," she whispered, and gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm not a teenager anymore. I'm not just gonna move out and then inch away and inch away until I'm in New Hampshire. I'm here to stay this time."

"I know," her mother insisted gently, inhaling deeply. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm being so emotional."

But Holly knew. After the way her sister had ditched everyone, and Holly's own adventures away from home, there had been a lot of leaving, and not a lot of coming back. Holly just shook her head reassuringly.

"At least don't forget game night," Mom said, interrupting the silence. Holly wrinkled her eyebrows. "I know that Friday nights are sacred, and we can make it once a month if that works better. I don't want to cut into your _Michael_ time."

"Why do you keep saying his name like that?" Holly asked with a lopsided grin. She glanced out at the living room. "Like it's some big thing. _Michael_."

Her mom chuckled, drawing Holly's attention back. "Oh, come on. All you ever wanna do is be with _Michael_ now. Lately it's impossible to get five minutes with you before he has you all blushing and whispering and laughing…"

"Hey," Holly protested, though she could not fight a wide smile. "I do not _only_ wanna be with Michael."

"Oh, really?" Mom challenged, eyebrows raised. She turned halfway on her barstool, toward the living room, and then looked back at Holly — then back at the window — then back at Holly — then back at the window…

She was mocking her.

"I was not doing that!"

"Uh-huh," Mom said, giggling. Settling back in her seat, she sighed. "It's sweet, though. Makes me happy as a mother."

Holly blushed. "But as a roommate…"

"It sucks ass," her mother admitted. Holly's jaw dropped — Mom just chuckled, shoving her shoulder. "Oh, relax. It's a _joke_."

She just made a sour expression, leaning down on the counter. Unable to help herself, she peeked out the window. "Your sense of humor..." she began.

Holly didn't finish, unfortunately, because she'd noticed Michael's car pulling into the driveway, and her mind had momentarily blanked. She bit down on her lip as she quickly returned to the conversation, trying to recall where she'd left off.

 _Damn it_.

"See?" Mom teased with a gesturing hand. "I don't even have to _look_ to know that he just got here, and now, the conversation is over. Am I right?"

But she was determined not to lose this argument, so Holly shook her head defiantly. "I'm here to talk. Let's continue."

Her mother squinted. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "You're telling me you're not gonna-"

"Nope." She shook her head again — meanwhile, a smile tried to threaten her face, but Holly shoved it down into a poker face. "I am not too smitten to spend time with my mother. Talk to me."

Mom blinked at Holly, between her outstretched hand and set expression, and seemed both amused and incredulous. She had a supreme faith in Holly's "smitten-ness" — but Holly was set to prove her wrong.

"All right," Mom said eventually, grinning. Her eyes wandered thoughtfully for a moment, before her eyebrows rose. "Oh! I could tell you about my new yoga teacher. Female this time — Peter went on paternity leave, to be with his new baby. Isn't that sweet?"

"That's sweet," Holly replied to show that she was listening.

"Yeah, but this new girl is such a _kitten_. I don't think she's ever had a drink in her life, either. And she makes custom mittens on Etsy, like we need another one of _those_."

His car door shut outside, audibly, and Holly had to force herself not to look away from her mother. "No, we don't," she said mindlessly, determined. For once, Michael would have to let himself in, even though she had _really_ missed him today, and he had texted her in all-caps, " _GOOD NEWS!"_

But her mom was right; Holly had to learn how to divide her attention.

"And you know I'm not one of those _old women_ who judge young women for their sex lives," Mom continued, while maintaining full eye contact. "But the girl is a self-proclaimed virgin at twenty-nine. Who's a virgin at twenty-nine and _wants people to know_?"

"Not a real virgin?"

"Exactly!"

Holly nodded, not really sure what she was saying at this point. All she had to think about was pushing her hands down into the counter, forcing all her excitement into a tiny corner of her mind until he was here. She pressed her lips together tightly.

"-thing I _really_ don't like is that look you get. Well, _you_ don't get it — the 'you're-old-and cute' look. For Christ's sake, I've been doing yoga for years. I don't need someone to ask me if I'm comfortable every five seconds!"

"I'm sure she just wants to be helpful," Holly argued lightly. Her gaze mistakenly slipped halfway toward the window, but she caught herself quickly, and seemingly just in time for her mother to have not noticed.

Mom scowled, and muttered, "I don't need 'help' to do a friggin' tree pose. I mean, when you see a physically-fit woman with an expensive yoga mat coming into your class, what do you think? 'Granny's first yoga class'?"

Then Holly caught, in her peripheral vision, the very top of Michael's head. She rolled her lips into her mouth to keep from reacting.

That time, she knew she'd been caught.

"Holly," her mother said simply, with half a sigh.

Holly feigned innocence. "What?"

"Just go see him," Mom relented — and although she pretended to be frustrated, there was a smile on her face. To accentuate her point, she gestured toward the living room.

And although she'd lost the argument, Holly grinned widely, heat rising to her cheeks, and rounded the counter. She tried to keep her pace to a jog as she left the kitchen, making for the front door. Behind her, she could hear chuckling.

Michael was only halfway up to the house by the time Holly had opened the front door. He walked with his head ducked down over his phone, deeply engrossed in whatever he was typing. She smiled, watching him for a moment.

When he finally looked up, he saw her there on the stairs, smiling at him. He stalled at first, eyes locked on hers — and then his expression melted into a grin. They both stood still, looking each other up and down, until Holly's blush deepened.

"Hey," she breathed, biting her lip.

"Hey," Michael replied, his voice a low, excited tone. He approached the stairs hastily.

Holly bounded down the last few steps toward him, hardly being careful — but she didn't fall, so no harm, no foul. Her arms were already outstretched for him, so that when he reached her, he didn't have to move an inch for her to pull him into her embrace. His lips were still grinning as he dove down for an immediate kiss.

Blood rushed to her head as she kissed him back, and her arms wrapped up tightly around his neck to lure him down into her lips. Michael stood still for a moment, his head bobbing down lower to kiss her better; but he quickly found a new vantage point by scooping her up under her jeans and stretching her up to him. She exhaled happily…

The nearer they came to moving day, the more agonizing it was to think about all the time alone they _didn't have yet_. It was safe to say that they were both dying slow, painful deaths, just daydreaming about what they'd be able to do once they were living alone again.

There were a _lot_ of things she wanted to do to him right now, which she had a feeling their neighbor, while mowing his lawn and minding his own business, would not appreciate.

So Holly kissed him one more time before retreating with a sigh. As soon as the contact had broken, Michael's breath hitched and his eyes opened to meet her eyes. Holly blinked at him, smiling, and whispered, "I love you."

"I love you back," Michael said right away, through a shortness of breath. "And this makes four."

This was a new method of coping with their celibacy: they kept count of how many times they had _wanted_ to do it without being able to do it, and postponed them for their first day in their new apartment. Since they'd begun the count, they had accumulated four different missed opportunities — and Michael had already taken Monday off just to make good on these promises.

"Four," Holly breathed. Her nose felt feverish from blushing; she absentmindedly combed her fingers into his hair. "How was your day?"

"Good. Mixed emotions all over the office," he admitted, shrugging. "But I do have good news."

Holly's eyebrows rose. "I heard. How good is it?"

"Very good," Michael muttered, all smiles as his gaze bounced between her eyes excitedly. His hands slipped into her pockets as he struggled to keep the news inside. "I was gonna call you, but I just had to see your face when I told you!"

Her mouth opened in surprise, cheeks hurting a bit from smiling, and she chuckled. "Okay, then. You have my face. What's the news?"

"Oswald was officially fired today," Michael said without skipping a beat — and he squeezed her enthusiastically. "There's a human resources opening on my _floor._ So I talked to my boss while he was here, and they didn't have a replacement ready… so I recommended you for it!"

Holly's eyes widened, and she lowered her voice. "Shut up."

"No, you shut up!"

"No, you shut up!" Holly exclaimed.

"No, _you_ shut up!" Michael exclaimed right back, bouncing a bit as he spoke. "And I hear they're looking for someone _fast_ , so you could be interviewing as soon as Monday!"

Holly's jaw was completely dropped. "That's… unbelievable. That's _amazing_! That's-"

"I know!" he enthused, smiling wildly. "We could be working together again!"

She opened her mouth to say more, but nothing came — just pure shock, completely caught off-guard by this strange turn of fate. "I…" she tried, and shook her head thoughtfully. Michael just beamed at her in a way that filled her up with so much _excitement_ that…

"Make it five," was all she could manage to say, locking eyes with him.

And before he'd seemed to register what she'd meant, she pulled him in for another kiss… lawn-mowing neighbors be damned.

* * *

 _ **Enjoy.**_


	49. Don't Leave Me Here Alone

**Chapter XLIX**

 **Don't Leave Me Here Alone**

* * *

 _I remember you said,_

" _Don't leave me here alone."_

 _But all that's dead, and gone, and past_

 _Tonight…_

\- "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars.

* * *

Michael could enjoy a great many things in life: many styles of cuisine, genres of music, types of women… Obviously he had his favorites — especially a favorite woman — but he could tolerate almost any brand of experience. He'd smoked pot once, even, and he'd never thought he'd do that. He'd been to Canada, in the winter, and Jamaica in the summer. He had experienced _and enjoyed_ many diverse things.

Tennis was just never ever going to be one of those things.

And that was unfortunate, because watching tennis was all that the women of the house would let him do. The only other entertainment was folding laundry, which he _hated_ …

And he was folding laundry, just to feel a little something inside.

"… _would actually go really well with the bedroom furniture, if you still have it."_

" _Ugh, I threw that out. But I may have the um, the smaller — you know what I'm-"_

" _The little thing that you used to put by the vanity?"_

" _Yes! I think those were the same wood."_

Through these paper-thin floors, Michael could hear pieces of Holly's conversation with her mother upstairs, in her parents' bedroom. Meanwhile, Michael had been stuck with the boring job, watching the boring TV with Howard. He'd been fine with this originally, since Howard made a good conversational partner — plus it would keep a whole floor between him and Holly, which was completely necessary. Holly had put on these tight jeans this morning, and he'd caught her getting out of the shower, and with a little over a day before they'd be moved into their new apartment, his mind was not his friend…

But anyway, Howard wasn't keeping him distracted, and neither was this god-awful tennis match. And now, they were coming up to crunch time. He knew for a fact that in the bottom of this basket hid all of the lingerie, and for _god's sake,_ why wasn't Howard talking?

Applause broke out on the screen overhead, catching Michael's attention immediately. Howard, too, was locked into the game at this moment.

Anxious to make something happen, Michael finally tried to fake his way into a sports discussion.

"That Federer," Michael said, breaking the intense silence that had settled over the living room. "He's sure got that top-spin, am I right?"

He was seriously wondering if he was right. He thought he'd heard the commentator mention something like that earlier. But the longer Howard was quiet, the more Michael wondered if he'd spoken too quickly — or if Federer had even won that last point. Did he have a good top-spin? What the _hell_ was a top-spin?

"That he does."

Michael sighed in relief accidentally.

When he looked up, he met Howard's eyes. The man shrugged. "Personally, I'm more of a Djokovic man, but it's always a heck of a show when they go at each other, isn't it?"

Michael nodded right away, peeking down at his laundry. His train of thought trailed off when he set eyes on a pair of black lace underwear, only halfway concealed by a pastel bra with the little bow that always caught on his teeth…

His eyes bounced up to make sure Mr. Flax wasn't watching while Michael stowed away these first two items. He became hyper-aware of the fan that was _not_ spinning up above, and the slight warmth in his palms and forehead. Holly obviously hadn't thought about the clothes she'd washed today.

"'d you catch the big match last winter?"

"Hah?" Michael asked abruptly as he dropped the underwear back into the basket, just before Howard had turned. Howard raised his eyebrows at him curiously. Michael bit his lip. "Ah, nope. No, but I wanted to — my… _darn_ DVR. Heard it was a good one, though!"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "One of the best I've ever seen, and I've been watching tennis for quite a while."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Big fan."

"Me- me too," Michael tried through a clenched jaw. His fingers lingered on the little black bow, rubbing it between his fingers as he waited patiently for Howard to dial back into the TV.

Michael was in disbelief of himself. He'd gone for months without sex before — even when he was in relationships, and he'd been able to wait. It was just one more day. Why couldn't he just _not think_ about it? He was in the presence of her _father_ and all that ran through his mind was the lucky number six and all this clean lingerie getting dirty…

Two pairs of feet started down the stairs suddenly, and Michael nearly jumped out of his skin.

Fortunately, Howard hadn't seemed to notice.

" _-while we're looking, I think I have some other things to show you,"_ Annie's voice resounded from the hallway. Their footsteps reached the last step too quickly. Michael unfolded a sweatshirt and threw it over everything in the laundry basket at his side. He tried very hard to pretend he was interested in the tennis game.

"Mom," Holly said in a warning voice as she entered the living room. Michael didn't look back. "I told you to burn those"Not the yearbooks," Annie reassured her, with a hint of mischief in her tone nonetheless. "How's the match, boys?"

"Good," Howard replied mindlessly.

At this moment, Michael dared to peek over his shoulder at the two women — Holly in those jeans and all smiles, with her mother standing just behind in the doorway. When he locked eyes with her, Holly chuckled. "Hey."

"Hiya," Michael said, trying to keep his tone as un-sexual as possible. "How's packing?"

"We're almost done," Holly replied. She stepped up behind his chair and looked up at the TV. "Who's winning?"

"Federer," her father answered right away, glancing over at her. "But just barely. It's a nail-biter."

"Ooh." She smiled down at Michael, eyebrows raised, and set her hand on his shoulder. "Bored to tears yet?"

Michael wrinkled his forehead. "Nah. It's actually pretty riveting. I can definitely see the appeal."

A little chuckle emanated from the hallway. Michael sent Annie a glare over Holly's shoulder.

At least Holly seemed to appreciate his effort as she leaned down to his lips, kissing him briefly but affectionately. As she pulled away, she whispered, "We're gonna go down to the basement and look at some possible things for the apartment. Do you mind waiting for the Jimmy John's?"

More waiting here in this living room until the subs arrived — it sounded like a dream.

"Not at all," Michael lied with a smile. He caught one more kiss off her lips before she straightened back up, squeezing his shoulder.

"Okie-doke. Love you."

"Love you," he said, watching as she returned to the hallway. He tried to keep his eyes above waist-level as Holly followed her mother down the hall, and out of sight.

This left him alone with Howard again, and while Michael had high hopes that this tennis game was reaching its end, there was still no foreseeable way for him to fold these underwear without Howard's noticing. He considered just going for it, playing it cool — but if there was eye contact, _or avoided eye contact_ , he would have to kill himself.

But he needed to put them away quickly so that his mind could cool down.

"You know…"

Michael's head shot up at that, though he relaxed himself quickly. Howard was looking at him. "Yeah?" Michael replied.

Howard glanced at him sideways for a moment, and a lopsided smile came to his face. "It's not for everyone," he admitted quietly.

"What?" Michael shot back. He was already on the defensive; he clutched at the shape of a bra through the sweatshirt material.

"Tennis."

That wasn't what Michael had been expecting, and so he let out his held breath all at once. "Oh, no," he replied, shaking his head. "It's really engaging. I just wish I knew a little more about it. Like what 'love' is, for instance…" He threw his hands up. "But hey, I'm a quick learner."

His efforts to seem at all interested fell on deaf ears, apparently, as Howard chuckled to himself. He looked back at the TV, pausing for a moment, until he shrugged. "Holly used to hate it, too — when she was younger, you know. She'd come up and snuggle with me on the couch, and she'd suffer through it, because she was so darn quiet that it took us forever to figure out what she wanted."

Michael raised his eyebrows, turning halfway in his seat. "Really?" he asked, intrigued.

Howard met his eyes widely and gave a big nod. "Shoosh, yeah. She was always a little shy, until probably those preteen years — and when that hit, she gave me her strong opinion on tennis. And a few other things, too," he added with a laugh.

"Ooh," Michael crowed, grinning. "Sassy teenager. I knew that story was buried down somewhere."

He bobbed his head, and his mouth opened as if he were to say more — but then something important must have happened, because he suddenly set all his focus on the TV screen. Not a word came out of him then.

This opportunity was all Michael needed to slowly, silently bunch up his sweatshirt around the pile of female underwear at the bottom of the basket, rolling it up into a Big Ball of Discretion. He then placed this Big Ball of Discretion into the cardboard box on the floor.

Once it was out of sight, he found that it was more or less out of mind.

A few images would flash up when he thought about it, but then he just thought of Dwight and the feeling would pass.

"I just thank god that she's back to herself again," Howard said, after a brief period of silence.

Michael nodded instantly. "Oh, me too, definitely. Yes."

"I don't get too much into the girl things," her father continued with a sad smirk. "That's really Annie's department, but I always heard things. It's just sad, how people can behave when they're young. Everybody thinks they have something over _everybody_."

"Exactly," Michael agreed, forehead wrinkled as he nodded. He leaned his elbow on the chair. "I had no idea you even knew, about any of it. Did Holly talk to you?"

"Wait," Howard said quickly, and he leaned forward in his seat, eyes trained on the TV. Michael looked up at the screen, but all he saw was a perfectly-typical exchange of a tennis ball between two players, whom he could not identify as Federer or Djokovic individually. Howard's brow furrowed suddenly. "Damn."

"Yeah, damn," he replied. " _Damn_ that."

"It was Annie who told me," her father answered, a bit delayed. "Doesn't matter now, anyway. She's moving forward from it, and I'm proud of her."

This all sounded strange to Michael, but he had no reason to cause a scene — even though it was _hardly_ Annie's place to be spouting off Holly's personal problems to both Howard _and_ Michael, himself. Howard probably had no idea how serious it was anyway.

"I'm… proud of her, too," Michael eventually echoed, looking down into his empty basket. "It's been baby steps, but I think this move is gonna heal a lot of hurt. She's been really excited about decorating and exploring the neighborhood…"

Howard sent him a weird look, and huffed a little laugh. "You mean Holly?"

"Yeah!" Michael breathed, grinning. "I couldn't believe it either. I thought she'd get cold feet, but I think the idea of living independently again has her really _motivated_ -"

"Living independ- my daughter, Holly?" Howard cut him off, not harshly but not happily. "She's living here with us, Michael."

Michael squinted. "Yeah… Right now, she is, yep. But tomorrow, she and I are, um, moving to our own apartm- do you not… remember that?" he asked nervously, biting on his lip.

"You're telling me my daughter's moving out and she hasn't told us?" her father asked, still sounding as if he believed this was a joke. "That's not making a whole lot of sense, is it?"

Suddenly, his heart was beating a bit faster.

"Holly…" Michael tried, while his mind raced with questions and different ideas of how to explain this. "Holly _definitely_ talked to you guys about this. For sure. It's um, it's been busy… so you might not remember it, you know?"

"And aren't you a little _old_ to be with my daughter?" Howard asked, and he started up — he started up to his feet and Michael's tongue went dry…

"Y-your, well, hey," Michael stuttered as he rose to his feet. "Your daughter's actually in her thirties, now, remember? So I'm not that much older… remember that?"

"Is that- did she tell you she was… What are you _talking_ about?"

"Howard," he tried, as the man came closer to him. He reached out a hand, both as a goodwill gesture and as a form of protection. "I think you're a little bit confused, so let's just- let's sit down and relax…"

" _Annie!_ " Howard shouted without warning.

" _Mr. Flax_! Mr. Flax?" Michael tried to calm him down, tried desperately to think of what to say to make the man remember or at least to not call the women up here, _definitely_ to not get Holly into this. "It's 2011, Mr. Flax. You have some memory trouble-"

"You're out of your mind," Howard muttered. " _Annie!_ Come up here!"

" _What's going on?"_ came Holly's voice from downstairs, through these _damn_ paper-thin floors and ceilings.

"Everything's fine!" Michael called down to them, stomping on the floor. "Everything's good, don't- you shouldn't come up here, at all, probably. No need! _Howard_."

"Get out of my way!" Howard snapped, in obvious panic mode, as he edged past Michael — but Michael insistently guarded the hallway, no matter how tall her father was. " _Annie_!"

Footsteps came up the stairs, to Michael's horror. "Howard, look at me!" he whispered loudly, commanding eye contact. "I'm _Michael Scott_. I'm marrying your daughter. You _like_ me, remember? We tell jokes, and watch tennis!"

"What's going on?" Annie called as she hurried out of the basement; and Michael swung back to see her, his eyes huge in warning, his head shaking. Annie took one look between Michael and Howard, and instantly, she swallowed hard.

" _Is he okay?"_ Holly called as she came upstairs.

"No, I'm not!" Howard demanded furiously. "Please come up here, _now_!"

Instantly, Michael and Annie froze, eyes locked.

"Holly, honey," Annie called over her shoulder, without turning her head. "You can keep looking down there. Everything's all right. _Get him upstairs_ ," she whispered to Michael.

"I'm not going anywhere!" Howard snapped before Michael could even reach out to him. "Holly, come _here_!"

"Howard-"

"Honey, you are _confused_ -"

"What's going _on_?" Holly asked as she reached the ground floor, basement door standing open beside her. Her face was spelled out in fear, gaze bouncing between the three of them and landing on her father. "Dad, are you okay?"

"You're leaving?" Howard asked quietly, passionately, with an expression of complete betrayal. That was all he asked — no more, no less, and the hallway was silent.

Holly didn't seem to realize yet the depth of the situation, and she smiled sadly. "Dad," she mumbled, stepping toward him. "I told you I was going. I was only staying here until Michael and I could find a place-"

"So you're going off with _Michael_?" he shot back right away. "You think he can support you? He can be your family?"

Michael felt that right down in his stomach, _especially_ at the sight of Holly, who was completely caught off-guard by this sudden shift. Her jaw was dropped and her eyes were filled with this sudden guilt.

"Dad, I-"

"He's confused, Hol," Annie interrupted her before Holly could say anything, and her hands came to Howard's side. "We have talked about this, and he _knows_ -"

"You _know_ , Holly," Howard continued angrily, though he looked sad more than anything else. "You were there when we lost Meg, and you _know_ how it… You promised to stay."

Holly's eyes were visibly tearing up as she sniffed. "Dad, this isn't like that. I'm not _abandoning_ you. I love you."

"Howie, let's go upstairs and talk," Annie interrupted this scene, with a firm grip on her husband's arm. "You are _confused_ , and you're saying things you don't mean. Come on."

"How can you think I don't _mean_ -"

" _Howard_!"

Michael looked over at Holly while her parents argued with each other, trying to catch her eye from across the hallway. Her eyes were sunken slightly as she watched her father struggle with her mother, and Michael's heart imploded. "Honey-"

"You need to _stop it_ ," Annie snapped at Howard, in a low tone that Michael had only heard once before — the last time Howard had had one of these episodes. "Do you understand me? Let's go talk."

"Annie," Michael tried, over Howard's shoulder. "He doesn't- he thinks this is-"

"I know," Annie stopped him, locking eyes with him just long enough to show her true intentions. Her gaze flicked fleetingly toward Holly, who now ran a hand up and down her father's arm comfortingly — and Michael realized that Holly didn't _know._ She had no idea that he not only had forgotten their conversation, but also the past fifteen years of her _life_.

And Annie still didn't want her to know.

"Let's go."

Howard finally succumbed to her guidance, walking past Holly and up the stairs with his wife right behind. They slowly made their way up and out of the situation, Howard muttering unintelligible things all the way. The air was not truly silent until the door at the far end of the hall finally opened, and finally closed.

Michael turned to Holly.

She was clearly shaken by the event, confused by her father's sudden forgetfulness and hurt by the words that were said — her eyes were downcast to the floor and her hand covered her mouth. She did not speak and did not move, eyes just flitting across the wood floor in deep thought.

Having no idea of what to say, Michael just stepped toward her. Instantly, she reached out, barely lifting her head, and wiggled her arms around him as he pulled her into a hug. Her face fell into his shirt as the emotional energy left her body, dissolving into his arms.

"Don't worry," Michael said, even though he felt this was the wrong thing to be saying. He rested his cheek on her head and squeezed her tighter in his arms. "He's gonna be okay. It's just a lapse."

"I talked to him."

"I know," he whispered.

"I brought it up probably every day for the past month," she defended herself with a sniff. "I thought he would be okay. I didn't think…"

"Shh," Michael urged her softly. He stretched his fingers over her back, and grazed over her shirt. "It was my fault. I brought it up, and I shouldn't have."

"I didn't think I was hurting him," Holly admitted, and her voice broke just a little with that. "I thought he'd be happy for me."

"He is, babe," Michael assured her right away. "And he's proud of you. He told me he was."

Holly paused for a moment, inhaling deeply. She turned her head. "He did?"

Michael nodded passionately. "Mhm, he did. Cross my heart."

This seemed to help, just a little bit. Holly didn't respond.

Michael gave her hair a kiss and squeezed his eyes shut, then, just praying he wouldn't have to think of anything else to say to make this better.

* * *

 _ **This was a chapter I actually remembered. In fact, I think the second half of the story is more of what I remember, because it was later in 2016 by this point. I was so in love I could barely stand it. I wonder if that shows through, here.**_


	50. Pack Yourself a Toothbrush, Dear

**Chapter L**

 **Pack Yourself a Toothbrush, Dear**

* * *

 _Pack yourself a toothbrush, dear;_

 _Pack yourself a favorite blouse._

 _Because if we don't leave this town,_

 _We might never make it out._

\- "Sleep on the Floor" by The Lumineers.

* * *

 _"You can go your own waaaaaaay!"_

 _"Go your own waaaay..."_

 _"You can call it anotheeeeeer,"_ Michael sang loudly, in a high voice, _"Lonely daaaay..."_

Holly smiled up at him, head resting on his shoulder, which bumped up and down with the turn of the wheel as they rounded a wide turn in this gigantic vehicle — and she winced slightly when the back wheel bumped on the sidewalk, though she tried not to show any lack of faith. Michael had sworn he could drive the moving truck, and she was supportive of that.

She was also slightly frightened, but her mind was otherwise too preoccupied to worry about that.

 _"You can_ _ **go**_ _your own waaaaay!"_ came from up above. Holly tightened her hug around his arm and sighed, half-contentedly and half-nervously.

Sunday was moving day and Holly was feeling a lot of feelings.

 _"You can call it anotheeeer lonely daaaaay..."_

She couldn't believe that her dad had forgotten.

Obviously he had memory problems, and she didn't expect a lot from him. He forgot short-term things all the time, like names or events or conversations — and beyond that, there were long-term things, like Holly's moving to Scranton or his own retirement. But when things were stable and consistent, he was better. And Holly had been consistent in talking to him about moving, for weeks. She'd done everything she knew to do.

Now she just felt awful for blindsiding him.

Ever since her sister had walked out of the family, Holly had taken the position of the Responsible Daughter. Her parents loved her, and trusted her, and they had a relationship. And Holly had never been compared to Megan Flax.

 _"You can go your_ _ **own waaaaay!**_ _"_

Holly had a feeling that this was the only line Michael knew.

On top of this thing with her dad, at this most inconvenient time, A.J. was popping up. The voice in her head was a bit quieter now, just a tiny inkling of fear — mostly anxious energy now — as they grew closer to the storage unit where their furniture was kept. Her mind ran in circles over the fact that she was _doing this_. And it was moving day, and she and Michael were starting their life right now. And she was _doing this._

 _"You can-_ na na-na-na, na-na-na," Michael suddenly mumbled as his voice trailed off, and the radio died down. Holly opened her eyes to see what song was coming up next — but she found that the volume had been turned down. She peeked up at Michael.

"Are we close?" she asked quietly.

Michael adjusted the air conditioning slightly — the weather had become surprisingly warm lately, the sun parting the clouds out the passenger window — and rested his free arm around her shoulders. "Fifteen-ish minutes away," he replied in a peppy tone. "Aight?"

Holly nodded, turning her forehead into his shoulder. "Aight," she mumbled, mind already sleepy just thinking about all the moving they were about to do…

"No, I mean," Michael said, breaking the lull as he turned his head quickly. "Are you… aight?"

For once since she'd told him about her A.J. issues, she wasn't exactly sure why he was asking — because of that, or because of her dad. She just went with whatever felt worse.

"I'm worried about Dad," she admitted softly, with a sigh. "I guess it just really caught me off-guard, what happened yesterday."

Michael made a sad noise, and squeezed her closer. "I know it's rough… but hey, he seemed way better at breakfast, don't you think?"

He sounded hopeful when he asked that, and she knew he was. Ever since the whole incident, he'd been very sensitive to her feelings and facial expressions — as she'd noticed from a great deal of quick glances. He almost seemed guilty over an issue with her _father_.

So she kissed his shoulder with every affection, snuggling her knees up to his lap. "He did," she admitted. Her eyes wandered up to the windshield mindlessly. "I just hope we're not changing things up on him too fast. He doesn't seem to do well with change, and even when Mom is there to help him…"

"What did your mom say to you earlier?" Michael asked.

Holly shrugged. "She just apologized again, and said that she'd gone over everything with him last night, and now it's clearer in his head… I don't know…"

Michael rounded another wide turn, and the truck became silent, both from his concentration on the wheel and the trailing of her voice. Holly was able to ignore the sidewalk-bumping this time — her mind vacant as she stared down below, and sighed. Her chipping-dark-purple nails ran little lines over Michael's thigh, hypnotizing herself with slow, circular motions…

"That's good," he said, breaking the silence; and he nodded, "that she can help him. It's comforting, at least."

"I've just never heard him yell like that before," she said without even thinking about it. When she inhaled, she felt a bit of an anxious lump forming in her throat. She swallowed.

She didn't think she wanted to talk about it any more.

Eventually, Michael managed to find something to say to that.

"It'll also help for him to see the apartment," he informed her. He sounded as if he'd researched this. "It'll give him something to picture when you remind him that you moved out."

Holly lifted her head to look up at him. "So you're saying we should invite them over?" she clarified, half-smiling. Michael met her eyes briefly.

"Well, yeah," he said, with a shy smile. He checked her face again before adding, "If you want to, I mean, yeah, that'd be cool. We could even host game night, you know, once we get decorated and have food in the fridge."

"Oh." Holly sat upright, and reached an arm down to the floorboard without untangling herself from Michael. "That reminds me…"

She found the plastic bag which had slipped under the seat and, inside, got her hands on another little plastic bag. Hand lifted victoriously, she sat up again.

When she looked back at him, his eyes were wide. " _Sour Patch Kids_ ," he realized, voice full of food-lust.

Holly knew the way to his heart.

After only a few tries, she pried the bag open, _without_ sending little sour children flying all over the front seat. Michael's hands were both firm on the wheel now, so when she picked a few out of the bag, he opened his mouth wide. Holly smiled, popping one in his mouth.

She had chosen a yellow candy — the sourest of all — just to see his expression.

"Ugh," Michael said with a cough, whipping a hand off the wheel to cover his mouth when the yellow candy made a protest. "Oh _god that's sour_! _Oh_ god."

"Too sour?"

"Yeth, it'th _delithious_ ," he lisped, singing his praises around an already-abraded tongue. Finally, he swallowed it — and by now, his eyes were watering. "Another, please."

Holly was herself still looking for a red one, which were all hiding on one side of the bag. She served herself, and then found him a more forgiving green candy. "Green this time."

Michael's mouth waited patiently until she dropped it in. This time, Michael's lips closed around her fingertip, giving her a little Sour Patch kiss before releasing her. Holly blushed.

"Let's not invite them too soon, though," Michael suggested, with the candy banished to his cheek.

Holly raised her eyebrows as she chewed. "Oh? Why not?"

"Because we have to christen it first."

She almost choked at that, but managed to save herself, pressing her hand to her chest. He met her eyes briefly as they reached a stoplight, and sent her a suggestive look. Her eyebrows rose even higher.

"Oh, really?" she asked flirtatiously. "How long should that take?"

"Oh, it could take a while," Michael assured her with a nod. "I've got the itinerary all planned out. Wanna hear it?"

Holly grinned, her hand wandering back to his leg. "Absolutely."

This obviously had him inspired, and his eyes took on a lustful shine — a human-lust, not a food-lust. This meant that Holly was beating out the candy for his attention, and that wasn't always a given.

"All right. So the obvious opening act is the bed," Michael began, rather officially. "Probably just one round, but I make no promises."

Holly instantly blushed, even though they were alone. "All right."

"Second is the shower," he continued, fighting a smile. "I have special plans for that one. Then we move into the living room and give the couch a workout — but depending on how the shower goes, I might just take you right to the dining table."

"Oh," Holly breathed a bit hollowly. Butterflies took residence in her stomach as she unintentionally visualized some of these options. "Anywhere else?"

Michael inhaled at that, and let out a little breath. "Well, we do have the patio."

Holly's eyes widened, and her blush deepened.

" _Michael_ …"

"I figured that wouldn't-" he resigned with a laugh, shaking his head. "So we keep it inside, yes. All right."

"Yes," Holly agreed as she cleared her throat. She had to look away to keep her face from overheating.

"Anything to add?"

"I think that covers it," she said with a weak breath. His eyes were on her then, and she couldn't withhold a smile. She cleared her throat again. "Solid plan. Thank you."

The grin on his face was unbelievable — with his eyes on the road, he found her cheek and kissed it. Holly pressed her grinning lips tight together; he pressed another kiss to her skin, and she knew he wasn't focusing on the road.

"Michael-"

"I'm focusing on the road," he said without even waiting for her to finish. He reached one hand over for the bag of candy, while he obviously struggled to hold down the wheel with one hand. He was so stubborn.

"Are you sure you can drive this?" Holly asked after a moment, challenging him.

"Yes!"

She lowered her brow at him. "You're absolutely sure?"

" _Yes_ ," he insisted, and slumped back in his seat. "Why do you question me? I'm an _excellent_ driver."

"I didn't say you weren't," she said, with a hint of teasing in her voice. "I just think you get distracted sometimes."

His jaw dropped, revealing a candy-stained tongue. "I resent that. I have the focus of a Norse god."

"I don't think there's a Norse god for focus…"

"-sure, when I'm working I get a little… off-track," he continued. He poked two fingers toward his eyes, then turned them to the road. "But when I get on that open-road, I'm an unshakable force. I feel the road roll under my feet and I control it - it doesn't control me. I'm unbreakable, Hol."

Holly eyed him carefully, gears turning in her mind. "Unbreakable?"

"That's what I said."

"So _nothing_ can distract you? You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm absolutely sure, yes," Michael insisted. He obviously wasn't thinking this through.

Holly's eyes drifted from his eyes down to his neck, silent, as she deliberated over this. "Okay," she said under her breath, just barely audible. "Game on."

Michael wrinkled his eyebrows. "What?"

She just smiled at him, and leaned in.

Her lips first found his ear, just a light, warm tickle on his lobe in the way she knew he loved. She nipped lightly at the cartilage, flicking it with her tongue, nuzzling his cheek with her nose. His mouth twitched into a smile, but he forced it down and narrowed his eyes on the road. She smiled.

Moving down, she pressed a soft, wet kiss below his ear, and he arched into her ministrations. Working her way down to his collar, she tugged his shirt down and twisted it up in her grasp. Her other hand flattened over his leg, gripping the inside of his thigh…

Michael made a noise — something between a groan and a sigh — and Holly paused, eyes opening to peek up at him.

"Should I stop?" she whispered.

"No, you can- do whatever," Michael said, and cleared his throat. "I'm fine. I can drive fine."

Holly hummed her agreement as she looked studiously over his skin, scanning for the most vulnerable place — and she noticed the nervous way he wet his lips, but simultaneously pressed them together in hiding. She grinned.

Her lips landed at the corner of his mouth, just out of reach, and she sighed warm air into his skin. Michael squinted at the road ahead, his foot lowering more on the gas. Meanwhile, her hand drifted lightly up his lap, playing at the waist of his pants.

She heard Michael's hands tighten on the wheel.

Grinning wickedly, her fingertips stalled for a moment to lull him into a false sense of security. She drew back from his cheek, studying his face, as she reached down under his waistband with featherlight nails-

"Hey, hey, hey, what're you doing?"

"Am I distracting you?" Holly asked, leaning back just an inch. Her hand remained frozen in place, only daring him with a light twitch.

Michael inhaled sharply and bit on his lip. "No."

Her eyebrows shot up, and Holly leaned up to kiss his lips. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, extracting another shallow breath from him, and her eyes fell shut, maybe feeling distracted herself. And her hand inched downward at a crawling pace, feeling around until-

"Nope-" Michael announced as he jerked his head back and removed himself from the kiss. His hand dropped off the wheel and grabbed her hand, tossing it away as if it were on fire. He shook his head, eyes on the road. "Nope, I can't- you gotta stop. I can't focus, when you do that."

"I thought you were focusing on the road," she protested, feeling like such a tease. "I didn't think a Norse god could be fazed by me, a mere mortal-"

"You win!" he said, half-smiling and half-grimacing at his arousal. He waved his hand toward the passenger side. "Scoot over. Go sit over there."

Holly mock-frowned. "You're banishing me?"

"You brought this on yourself," Michael said. When Holly leaned in to kiss his cheek, he just held his hand up and shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Go."

"But-"

"You mess with the horny, you get the bull!"

She opened her mouth to correct him, but she had a feeling there was no way to argue with him now. So she hid her smile as she scooted across the seat, back to her side, mumbling, "Fine. But I'm taking the Sour Patch Kids."

"Fine," he argued as he shifted stiffly in his seat. He jabbed at the radio button with all his pent-up anxious energy. "I'll drive even better, then."

Holly chuckled at his indignation, settling into her seat. "I love you," she said with a smile.

"If you love me, why do you torture me?" he pouted.

"I do," she insisted.

"Seven!" Michael announced simply, upping the count as he turned up the volume and blasted her with Kesha.

Holly just smiled.

* * *

 _ **So I'm guessing this is one of those moving vans with just one long seat in the front or something. Also we're officially 1/2 of the way through the story. Let me know what you've thought so far. Night.**_


	51. I Never Saw You Coming

**Chapter LI**

 **I Never Saw You Coming**

* * *

 _This is the golden age_

 _Of something good and right and real;_

 _And I never… saw you coming…_

 _And I'll never… be the same…_

\- "State of Grace" by Taylor Swift.

* * *

Moving was fun.

It was exhausting, and tedious, and definitely not his first choice for a Sunday activity — his Sundays were very important to him — his day of rest came only once a week, and he adhered to it as if it were a religious thing. And it was sweaty, and he was still a little sweaty.

But somehow, it had been a lot of fun.

Everything was out of the truck now, up to the apartment — and if it wasn't in its correct place, it was at least indoors. They'd carried all the heavy stuff last, which now left his arms pounding, since he'd insisted on taking the lower position as they maneuvered the stairs. But he wasn't gonna make Holly carry seventy-percent of the couch. She was smaller, and he had pride, and if that meant losing all feeling in his upper body, it was a price he was willing to pay.

Or he had been originally. Now he just wanted to die.

But the tightness in his legs had subsided during the car drive to the Chinese restaurant and back, fortunately. He'd considered parking at a gas station just to sit down for a minute, but it was already past dinnertime, and he was ready to _eat_.

Now, all that was in the way of that… were a few more stairs.

There was also the option of lying down on the ground and opening the takeout himself, but he had a feeling that would lead to an awkward conversation if Holly found him.

Speak of the devil: today had been ten times less awkward than Michael had feared. While the threat of Holly's getting cold feet loomed over the apartment-planning like the shadow of Batman's cape just when the criminal realizes Batman is about to drop down on him, Michael had prepared himself for anything to go wrong. He'd tried to straddle the line between getting excited and not getting _too_ excited — making this a big deal, but not too _big_ of a deal.

Holly was surprisingly calm.

It wasn't _that_ surprising, since in nearly every other situation, she was the calmer, more collected one — but still, he'd expected some kind of freak-out. Before now, his romantic life had been a comedy of errors, with his unhealthy taste in women or his haste to get serious. But Holly was steady. She'd said she wanted to move in together, and they moved in together.

And she was hungry now, so the _least_ he could do was get his ass up these stairs and bring her dinner.

The sun was setting now, and Michael felt a strange sense of calm fill him up as he trudged up the one floor between him and his new home. It was as though now that this was finally done, there was nothing in the way, to worry about or to _decide their fate_ or whatever. They weren't temporarily living in Boulder anymore. They had a _home_. They had a _kitchen,_ and a _bedroom,_ and a _future nursery._ They had something tangible now.

He'd never believed he would actually find it.

Something loud was going on upstairs, and the closer Michael grew, the clearer it became — Holly wasn't relaxing as he'd asked her to do. She was moving the couch, even though they'd so neatly placed it on its side against the kitchen counter, to never bother them again. They were going to move the couch, and unpack the dishes, and go grocery shopping, and do all the boring stuff tomorrow. Tonight, they were supposed to relax.

Michael shifted the food containers into one arm so that he could open the door dramatically and catch her in the act — and he did, with flair, expression readied in "gotcha!" position.

Instead of finding her struggling with the couch, Holly had instead moved the several pieces of furniture into place in front of the entertainment center, turned upright. Her hands were on her hips, shoulders heaving with exertion, panting slightly. Michael stopped to look at her.

She stood in her tank top and sweatpants as she examined the living room from a few feet back. Her hair was up in a messy little ponytail and she chewed on her cheek in deep thought — and her body looked great, he did notice, but her _face_ was devoid of makeup and scrunched up in focus and just so much more impressive. He had to catch his breath.

She really was the prettiest mover he'd ever seen.

Eventually, Holly noticed him standing in the doorway, and her eyes lit up. "Hey!" she greeted enthusiastically, though she was out of breath. Her eyes lowered to the food in his hand. "Oh, thank god."

"Bon appetit," Michael announced with a smile. He stepped toward her and extended one of the containers of rice. "Muh lady."

"Why, thank ya, kind suh," Holly replied in kind, taking it from him and starting toward the couch. "I moved the couch. I know I said I would leave it alone, but it was just sitting there, and I had nothing to do."

"I knew you would," he said, and spared her a knowing look as he leaned down to set the food and drinks on the coffee table. Holly sat down on the couch, and he dropped down beside her with a long sigh. " _Man_ , I'm exhausted."

"Me, too," she mumbled, in a smiling tone. When Michael looked at her, her smile broadened. "While you were out, I took some pictures and sent them to Mom. She had some decorating tips, of course."

"Of course," Michael said, grinning. He shoved his straw down into his cup while Holly broke out the chicken. "I got some paper plates and plasticware and stuff; it should be in the bag."

"Aha!" Holly pulled out the plates and forks, setting them out in front of them. Then she opened the rice, adding over her shoulder, "So now that this area is done, all we really have left to do is the mattress, the kitchen boxes, and get the clothes into dressers."

Michael nodded his agreement as he dumped rice out onto his plate. "But all we _really_ have to do tonight is set up the bed, right?" he reminded her. He sent her a playful look. "I think it's all we're gonna need."

She shot that playful look right back at him, but replied, "I think we should get the clothes out, too, so you can get ready for work tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm not going to work tomorrow," he said flippantly, and sat back with his plate.

Holly raised her eyebrows. "You're not?"

Michael turned sideways to face her. He shook his head. "I made a prior engagement, which is of utmost priority. In fact, I made seven prior engagements, and I intend to keep _all_ of them."

"Oh," Holly recalled, eyes still slightly incredulous. She looked down at her food, smiling, and added, "You don't think you'll be too sore?"

He wrinkled his eyebrows and took a bite. "Too sore?" he protested, mouth full. "I doubt it. The question _is…_ can you keep up?"

Her jaw dropped at that, as she collected her legs up under her and leaned on the back of the couch. "Oh, okay," Holly said in realization, smile growing. She nodded as she looked down at her food. "So… I'll let you take the top, then."

Michael stopped chewing abruptly; when he caught her eyes, there was a moment of nervous silence. Then he started to giggle. And that developed into full-on laughter, so sudden that until he had to set his food aside until he settled down.

Meanwhile, Holly was both confused and amused, giggling herself. "What?" she asked, and scooted in closer to him. "What's so funny?"

Michael shook his head at her. "I was actually worried someone would hear you say that. We can _talk about sex_ now."

"What a luxury," she said between chuckles. She took a long sip through her straw, eyebrows raised, before setting her cup back on the table. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! Mom wants to come over on Wednesday and see the place, so we can go shop for decorations this week." Licking her lips, she added, "I figure I should take advantage of these days off."

"You should," he agreed with a nod, and kicked his shoes off so he could put his feet up. "Who knows, though? You've got that interview Tuesday, so you could be employed by then."

Holly shook her head at that. "I don't think so."

"You could!" he pointed out, tilting his head at her. "The temporary rep is supposed to be ducking back out by the end of the week. They've gotta find _someone_."

Still, she didn't seem convinced, taking a big breath and holding it for a moment. "I don't know," she said, with a big exhale. Her eyes met his uncertainly. "I can't exactly get a good reference from my last boss."

Michael shrugged it off. "You've got my reference from Dunder Mifflin. And it was _glowing_. You'll be fine."

"But won't it look like nepotism?" Holly asked, and she set her plate down momentarily, reaching for the fortune cookies. She kept her eyes low as she added under her breath, "I really want people to like me this time, and if you get me this job…"

"It won't be a problem, I'm _telling_ you," Michael said as his hand landed on her arm and began a gentle motion up and down. "The people here are great, and- and, hey, you're gonna be the least drama on the whole floor. I mean, two people aren't allowed to _speak_ to each other, and that's a downgrade from the _restraining order_ Zach's lawyer encouraged him to get. Plus, word around the office is Ginny's about to break up with her 'not-boyfriend' who keeps calling her and making her leave work. That could be just what you need to fly under the radar."

Holly didn't seem to know what to take away from all this information, but she nodded slowly. "I hope so," she muttered. Meanwhile, her hands rolled a fortune cookie around, without opening it; she stared at it in thought, until she held it up between them. "Maybe the fortune cookie will give us guidance."

Michael's eyebrows shot up, and he bobbed his head. "Can't hurt to try."

She promptly cracked the cookie open, pulling the pieces apart to reveal the message — which she then turned upside-down, and squinted to read. "Gosh, this font is tiny. Okay, it says: 'Your smile brings happiness to everyone you meet.'" She smiled, looking up at him. "Aww."

"It's true," Michael agreed, grinning back at her — and her smile widened. "Fortune cookies are genius. They know all."

Holly just grinned down at the cookie, and eventually, tossed the fortune onto the table. "Doesn't help much, though," she said. Looking over at the cookie in his lap, she added, "What does yours say?"

He was already unwrapping it, eager to receive a compliment of his own. "Let's see here," he said, and broke the cookie. He also had to turn it over to read, and squinted…

Then his eyes wandered just above the paper, to her face as she watched him reading — her lips were parted in anticipation, her bangs drooping down into her face and her lips wet from her drink — tank top revealing a _lot_ of cleavage, even with her good posture — and her short fingers twisted up in her ponytail, twirling it in circles. He took a breath and refocused on his fortune.

"'A man is wise to shower his lover in kisses,'" Michael lied, and met her eyes. Holly's eyes widened, and he shrugged. "That's what it says. It must be a sign."

"It does _not_ say that," Holly argued, though she didn't appear to be opposed. She reached out to take the fortune, but Michael whipped it out of her reach.

"Nope! Bad luck, it's bad luck," he insisted as he crumpled up the tiny paper, shaking his head. "You can't read another man's fortune or it won't come true. I don't make the rules."

"But that's not a rule!"

He tossed it onto the coffee table with finality. "Sorry. You're just gonna have to accept fate." He then leaned toward her.

She giggled. "Fate? It said a man is _wise_ to shower his lover in kisses. How wise do you think you are?"

"Let's find out," Michael mumbled, meeting her eyes for just one long second — grinning deviously as he leaned just a bit closer, pinning one arm on her other side. Holly watched him carefully, eyes bouncing over his face with strategy, as if she were thinking of a way to escape.

He didn't give her a chance. He kissed her cheek; and then her ear; and then her started a vicious path down her neck full of loud, ticklish smooches, which sent her into giggles, her neck curling up against his head. "Michael!"

Michael pecked quickly at her collarbone and then over to the other side of her neck while his arms wrapped around her body, pulling her in closer — and Holly threw her head back with giggles, both tickled and pleased and giddy and probably tired from all the moving so that she just giggled and jolted at the tickling sensations, as if it were a game. He bounced from the sensitive spot behind her ear to her cheekbone, and he felt her relax and draw him closer, and he smooched her temple a few times before traversing over to her nose, where he planted three gentle kisses on the pointed-up tip.

Then he was interrupted as Holly tilted her chin up and stole his lips away, kissing him playfully — and she let out a little laugh in his mouth, smiling teeth brushing against his lips. He pecked at her upper lip in quick succession, so that she could barely keep up, until Holly caught him up in a deeper kiss. She drew him back toward her as her eyes fluttered shut. Michael sighed contentedly.

Her hands brushed over his cheeks, and he relaxed into her. She always had that power, to kiss him once and completely change the atmosphere, filling him with peace and patience and impatience all at the same time. He drew a heavy breath, and his hands ran down her back to her hips. Holly shifted slightly at his touch.

Then her palms flattened against his face, and she opened into the kiss. He took advantage of this, his tongue grazing her lip as his mind drifted away from him. Her fingers tangled themselves roughly in his hair; his hands slipped under the back of her shirt, and suddenly, the soreness and tension in his shoulders seemed to melt…

Holly let out an unexpected groan, and the atmosphere shifted again.

While she slowly gravitated toward him, Michael changed the direction himself, leaning into her and driving her back into the arm of the couch. Her breaths became more shallow, and his weren't too far behind — and _damn it_ , she let out another moan against his tongue, and he was beyond affected. His mind was too foggy to even try to remember the last time she'd made that noise…

He wondered what other noises he could get her to make, now that no one was listening.

It was at just this moment when Holly pulled back, head landing on the couch cushion below — when he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find how far he'd pushed her down — and how swollen her lips were already becoming, _fuck_ …

"Too tired to set up the mattress?" Holly asked between heavy breaths, breasts inching out of the top of her shirt, her hair _already_ a mess but not half the mess it was going to be.

Michael chuckled and shook his head — but as he looked her over just once, he swallowed hard. "Or we could start here?" he suggested, quirking up an eyebrow.

Holly groaned behind a smile, and pulled down lightly on the back of his head. "Works for me," she breathed just before her lips met with his, for a few seconds. Then she retreated to whisper, "Hey."

"Hey," he said, anxious to kiss her again. His hands squeezed her ass to emphasize how very _eager_ he was.

"What did your fortune really say?" she asked, because she was just too curious.

Michael furrowed his brow, then reached one hand out to find the fortune on the table. Drawing it back, he read, "Uh, 'All good things come to him who waits.'"

That seemed to amuse her, as she cocked her head to the side. "They certainly do," she muttered.

He chuckled, and fell back to her mouth.

* * *

 _ **I just wanted to thank everyone for their amazing reviews on the 50th chapter. One of you actually got me emotional, so thanks, bitch. (but genuinely thanks, it made my week. I'm too eager to see the flaws in previous works, I'll admit. I'm working on that.)**_


	52. The Way You Say Good Morning

**Chapter LII**

 **The Way You Say Good Morning**

* * *

 _Because I love the way you say good morning,_

 _And you take me the way I am._

\- "The Way I Am" by Ingrid Michaelson.

* * *

There were three feelings that hit her in succession from the instant she woke up, and they were all unique from each other.

The first feeling was one of confusion, and it came strongly when she first opened her eyes, drifting sleepily out of dreams and into the world around her, with her body just a sinking anchor, holding her down to the mattress as her mind floated around in the air up above. She looked around for a long, silent moment, just inhaling and exhaling until her thoughts formed themselves… and she noticed that she had no idea where she was. The unfamiliar ceiling, unfamiliar mattress, and unfamiliar lighting threw her for a loop.

Then in pieces came her memory, and the realization that this strange place was now home.

So she took a moment to soak it in — to memorize the look of the ceiling, the feeling of the air conditioning, the sound of their soft breaths echoing in the room, and the light peeking out behind the curtains overhead. And the confusion went away with time, as she came into her body and recognized the feeling of the sheets, her naked body pressed into the sheets, with one weight on her stomach.

When she turned her head over, however, Michael was not there. Not a body peeked out from the sheets beside her, and for a moment, she panicked, near-shooting up straight to look for him until her attention found its way back to the weight on her stomach.

It was Michael.

Down below the covers, having fallen asleep while lazily kissing over her, a very handsome man lay with his head on her stomach. Strong arms wrapped around her midriff and held her tight in his embrace, and his legs curled around her ankles. His breaths tickled her skin — his hair was in comfortable reach of her fingers…

Her second feeling was one of adoration, and it was the same feeling with which he'd buried her last night.

Somehow, in any other relationship, no matter how developed, Holly had received a mental map of sex, and it made for a lot of questions — when it was her turn to give, when it was his turn to give, when she was supposed to do this or that, what he was expecting from her and how that would make _him_ feel. But sex with Michael was beyond comparison.

Michael didn't just make love. He made himself — his hands and his lips and his body and his voice — _into love_. He let his love consume him and Holly could barely handle it, much less achieve anything more than try to give back, to _attempt_ to make him feel as high-up and set apart as he made her feel…

Even now, in his sleep, he was given to give and not to take. And that was healing her. It filled her up and built her into this tower, into this invincible, beautiful identity that she'd never met until now; and if it took the rest of her life to show her love in any equal way, she would put in the time.

Holly sighed then, as her fingers buried themselves in his hair and her legs tangled themselves up in his, just basking in this moment. She never wanted to leave this bed. She never wanted to wear clothes again. She never wanted to separate from him again.

Unfortunately, her third feeling was hunger, and it rumbled in her stomach like a thunderstorm which promised to rain out her parade.

It wasn't as if she'd never stayed in bed hungry before, and in any other situation, she wouldn't have to wake Michael at all. But it was just her luck that Michael's ear lay flush against the very stomach that howled and roared against her will. She knew that the second he woke up, the _instant_ he knew she was hungry, he'd be up and off to make some kind of breakfast of the zero contents of their refrigerator.

She actually had no idea what they were going to eat for breakfast.

That was a bit disconcerting.

Her traitorous stomach let out another protesting cry, and she could sense his slight stirring against sleep; she still refused to open her eyes and drew him even closer, craning her neck down to kiss his head. There was no chance to keep him in this peace now, but at least she could give him a good wake-up call.

One more growl was enough to send his head rubbing against her stomach lightly, and she looked down to catch the first hazy blink of his eyes, the dilation, the sudden focus on the bare skin lying before him. She smiled, peeling the sheets back to uncover his head.

Michael's gaze ran up her skin — naturally lingering at her chest but eventually making its way upward. Holly was already in a wide grin when he looked up at her, as she admired the sleep around his eyes, and the slight curl of his lips, and the sheer sight of his shoulders and his chest while her eyes wandered down to that which the sheets remained to cover.

"Well, good morning," he said, drawing her attention — and her throat went dry at the low rumble of his voice, the slight rasp, the sharpness on his consonants. Her lungs filled with air as she looked over him fondly, just appreciating this moment.

"It is," she eventually replied, exhaling all her held breath. Fingers grazing over his scalp, she reached a leg around his hips; and she reeled him against her body, grinning shyly. "You look hot down there."

Michael smirked. "You look hot down here, too."

Holly's lips faltered, her mind just running to a stall.

"Come up here," she requested, trying not to sound too excited.

"Mm, nope," Michael hummed, and shook his head lazily. And then a pair of warm lips grazed her ribcage, inching down her stomach…

Holly chuckled at the feeling, and her eyes drifted shut to enjoy the ministrations in silence. The sensation hearkened back to some ten hours ago, when she'd been trying to set up the mattress while he only distracted her...

Peeking down at Michael, whose lips grazed down below her waistline, Holly whispered, "So what's on the agenda for today?"

She knew full-well what was planned for today. She just wanted to hear him say it.

"Well," he began, with a glint in his eye. Holly bit her lip as she watched his expression and heard the obvious lowering of his voice as he continued; "I was _thinking_ …"

The moment was harshly interrupted by the growl of her stomach, which was, once again, off to destroy her daydream.

Michael's mood instantly changed at the sound right next to his ear, propping himself up on his hand. He looked up at her with a smile. "Hungry?"

"I can wait," she said, probably as soon as the word was out of his mouth.

"Let's get some breakfast," Michael said anyway, and he reached up to run featherlight touches above the edge of the sheets wrapped around her. "I'll make something yummy."

Holly smirked. "With what ingredients?"

Although this was an important detail, Michael hardly paid it any mind as he started up, pulling the sheets with him as he went. "I'll figure it out," he said; his eyes wandered as her body was uncovered, and he added, "You can wait here, just like that. I'll bring it in to you."

"I'll come with you," she said anyway, she too sitting up to leave the bed…

But Michael set his hand on her shoulder, lightly pushing her back down to the bed. "Stay," he insisted in a soft voice. One foot on the floor, he held up a finger in emphasis. "I'll be right back. Don't move! Promise?"

Smiling, she crossed her heart with her finger. "I promise."

That was enough for Michael, who then sprung out of bed, completely undressed. Holly watched him fondly as he found his boxers from the night before and pulled them on — and she sat up a bit as she observed silently, drawing the covers up to save her from the cold. Michael looked back at her before he left, and winked.

She winked back. He then turned and jogged out of the room, into the hallway, swinging the door half-shut behind him.

While Holly had promised to stay in bed, that was only a kind-of-promise — as she was sure to be back in bed by the time he came back with breakfast. But without him lying beside her, the cold was making goosebumps of her skin. So she wrapped herself up in the covers and stood up, scanning the room for something to wear.

All their clothes were in boxes in the corner, so Holly resorted to Michael's white t-shirt and yesterday's underwear. Her eyes were half-open as she dressed, groggy from the sheer lack of food or caffeine in the apartment. Once she was finished, she forced herself to open her eyes, to catch a glimpse of her hair in the mirror.

What she saw was much more surprising.

Her hair was messy, obviously — long and tangled over her shoulders, falling into her face — her smiling face, pink despite the cold — her pale, slightly chapped lips stuck in a subtle grin, cheekbones prominent — her body engulfed in his shirt. It wasn't that she looked so strange, but something was different.

She felt younger. She felt happy, and light, and _beautiful_.

Holly couldn't believe she was ever scared of this.

Logically, she understood why she'd been afraid. Things with A.J. had been much different, and she'd never felt this way with anyone else — there was no precedent, no reason to believe she could be _this_ happy. There was no way of knowing that the one thing she couldn't let herself do was also the one thing that would change her so drastically: trust.

And she trusted him, wholeheartedly. And it felt like flying.

" _Okay, so…"_

Holly looked up at the sound of his voice. At the sound of his footsteps coming, she leaped back toward the bed, picking up the sheets from under her feet and rushing-

"We don't have ingredients," Michael announced as he entered the room. He wasn't looking at Holly. "For anything. But I did find some Oatmeal Creme Pies."

Her eyes fell to the box in his hand, and then the two-liter bottle in the other.

"And one liter of warm lemonade," he added. He appeared to be disappointed in himself. "And we don't have cups, so we're gonna have to drink it swiggin' style. Will that… is that gonna work? Or should I go down to the store and find something better?"

She didn't respond at first, kind of starstruck at the sight of her shirtless fiance, standing there with a box of Oatmeal Creme Pies and a half-full two-liter of Minute Maid, his expression downcast as he silently worried that this breakfast was not enough for her. She had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing.

"It's perfect," Holly decided, voice muffled behind her hand.

Michael smiled, and she had to catch her breath as she realized that this smile would be with her for the rest of her life.

* * *

 _ **Ough this fluff is grossly sweet. I'll cover your fuckin dentist bills.**_


	53. I Wanna Write Her Name in the Sky

**Chapter LIII**

 **I Wanna Write Her Name in the Sky**

* * *

 _I wanna glide down, over Mulholland_

 _I wanna write her name in the sky…_

\- "Free Fallin'" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

* * *

"The fact that he had the _nerve_ to look me in the eye and say that is just- _jesus_ ," Heather continued as she buried her hand in the side of her ruffled hair. Her glasses had fallen down the slope of her nose, in a disappointed slump similar to her posture. "I'm so done with blind dating. My friends must hate me."

"There's something I just don't understand about this," Michael muttered to himself.

Heather lifted her head, forcing her eyes open to look at him seriously. Michael looked up from his screen just in time to receive her withering stare. "I'm not telling you the whole thing again," she replied under her breath. Her head fell back. "I should just be a lesbian. Men are all disappointments. Even you, Mike. Even _you_ make me question my sexuality."

"Yeah," he agreed mindlessly. He squinted at the screen in front of him — the blue 1's, the green 2's, the red 3's, and the one purple 4 square — the impending doom of the timer running on him and the yellow smiley-face glaring at him — and he stalled, completely stumped. Eventually, he just randomly clicked a square off to the side.

Bombs filled the screen, and the smiley-face was now dead.

Minesweeper was the _worst thing ever invented_ and it made him want to die. He shoved the mouse a few inches and dropped back in his chair resignedly.

When he opened his eyes, Heather was still grimacing at him.

"What?" Michael asked, having lost track of the whole conversation. "I'm listening, I'm- trying to listen."

Heather just threw her hands up with a huff, giving him the strong impression that he had said the wrong thing. Covering her face, she added with a groan, "Forget it."

"Start again! I'll listen."

"You're just another _man_ ," Heather scorned him, as if it were a curse word. She sat up and turned halfway to look him hard in the eye. "All you do is watch porn and ask women for their bra sizes — or _guess_ their bra sizes from across the table, and go way too low!" Gesturing to her breasts, Heather asked, "Do I look like an A? Seriously?"

Michael averted his eyes at first, shaking his head. "I wouldn't- I don't know…"

"Don't be shy. Give me your best guess."

"34C," he offered with a shrug, not looking up from the screen. He clicked at a square, and then found himself at another stalemate. "But I don't stare at your boobs, so I'm probably wrong."

"That's exactly right."

"That's- wow," Michael said, and raised his eyes. Briefly considering her chest, he nodded slowly. "I was… I barely even notice your boobs, so I don't know-"

" _Man_!" Heather announced as she kicked her heel against the shelf beside her chair. "You aren't the honorary woman I thought you were."

"I am too an honorary woman. And an honorary man. I'm just honorary," he argued, and clicked another square. Bombs appeared everywhere — he then shoved his chair back a few feet and declared, "I don't _get_ Minesweeper, and yet I can't stop! _Please_ kill me!"

"Suffer," she spat mock-bitterly. Rolling onto her side to see him, she added, "It's what you get for not paying attention to me when I am in _need_. I've lost faith in the male sex! What if I never date again?"

Michael just couldn't pay attention at all. "You know what would get your mind off all this?"

"What?"

"Going into _your_ office and working," Michael suggested. He took a peek down at the clock in the corner of the screen. "You've been in here ever since lunch, and as much as I love talking about how much men suck, I have… work to do."

"You do not," Heather pointed out, and rolled onto her back again, as if to make a point of planting herself in that chair. "And I can't go out there until Zach finishes his lunch."

Michael, now making progress on this game, could only spare a brief glance at her before disengaging. "Okay… why not?"

She chuckled, tossing her head back to look at him upside-down. "He's wearing a tie clip," she said — and she could barely get it out before snorting in laughter. "A _tie clip_! How am I supposed to face that without making, like, seven different genres of jokes?"

"That's not…" he began. But as the image came to his mind, he cracked a smile. "A tie clip? Come on."

"He's a secretary. Why's he even wearing a _tie_?" Heather asked in a whisper, giggling to herself. "Does he think it makes him look all big and important? I mean, what's next? What could _possibly_ come after the hairstyle and the shoe polish and a _tie clip?_ "

Michael thought about this for a moment, eyes wandering from the screen. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Pocket square."

Heather's eyebrows shot up, and she burst into laughter, kicking her feet into the air — her high heels nearly flying off her feet. " _A pocket hanky!_ " She folded her hands in prayer. "Please, God, oh _please_ let me witness that."

"You like it, though," Michael said with a chuckle, and his face straightened into a crooning expression. "You like _him_ …"

"Do not," she shot back lazily.

"Do too."

"Do not!"

"Do too," he mumbled under his breath, and clicked a square — the wrong square. "Dddd _amn it!_ "

"You could stop doing that and work if it's really killing you this much," Heather pointed out with a smirk.

"No, I can't!" Michael buried his face in his hands, shrugging. "I can't. I'm waiting for Holly to come in for her interview, and I just- I'm too excited, and nervous, and… frazzled to work, so… if I could just _beat this game_ …"

"But you don't know how to play it."

"I am figuring it out!" he shot back in lamentation, as he looked back up at the screen. "Sort of!"

Heather just chuckled at that and walked her heels back up the side of the shelf, eyes following the motion silently. Michael watched for a moment, and sighed.

Footsteps sounded out in the hall, then, and both their heads lifted up to peek through the open door — Heather waiting for Zach and Michael waiting for Holly or the interviewers. They watched with bated breath.

But it was just Hughes from three doors down. They both huffed a breath.

After she had settled down again, Heather asked, "You really think it's a good idea for her to work here?" She raised an eyebrow. "Think you can keep it low-key?"

Michael wrinkled his forehead, and restarted the game. "It's not a secret agent position or anything, Heather. I'm not _too_ worried."

"But what if she gets it?"

Studying the screen, he mumbled, "So what?"

She didn't reply at first, but her head dropped back — and when he looked at her, her expression wavered.

He blinked. "What?"

"Oh…" she muttered, mouth forming a tight circle. "Yikes."

"Yikes, what?" Michael asked quickly, nervous at her tone. He turned his chair away from the computer to face her. "Is there a problem with that? Is she… what?"

Heather didn't respond for a moment, just biting on the inside of her cheek as if she were debating whether or not to answer. Finally, she straightened up in her seat, seated Indian-style with her head leaned in toward his desk. "So…" she began, and her tone dropped a good deal lower. "I guess no one told you, but there's a bit of a stigma on office romances at the DNR."

Michael blinked, and glanced at the screen to click a couple of squares. "Okay… as in, they're frowned upon?"

"As in, they're terminable."

His finger froze over the mouse, suspended as his mind made a full stop. He turned his attention completely back to her.

"Terminable?" he echoed in disbelief. "Like it's possible that I could get fired? Or she could?"

Heather reluctantly nodded her head. "It's not possible; it's probable. Especially if she's new."

"W- that's not good," Michael remarked, brow furrowing with nerves. "What do I- is there someone I can talk to? Can we sign a paper or something — a pardon, or…?"

"You want to sign a _pardon_ from your fiancee?"

"Okay, that's not the word," he admitted, "but what do I do? What do I _do_?"

"Just relax."

"I can't get her a job just to get her fired!" Michael pressed a hand to his face, his eyes wide, and he stared at the desk absently. "I can't get _myself_ fired. We have to pay rent now, and we're planning a wedding, and- and _my god_ , if we have to move back in with her _mother_ -"

"Michael, it won't be that bad," Heather insisted. "She might not even get the job."

"No, it's gonna be bad," he said, shaking his head. "We're gonna have to move back into her parents' place, and Annie and I _just_ made it into the clear with her dad…"

"You won't have to move b- wait, what?"

"And we've been having sex!" Michael groaned as he squeezed his eyes shut. "So much _sex_. It's like I'm reborn, and I'm just this little newborn baby in this brave new world, having the best sex of my life with this gorgeous… _vixen_ -"

"Okay, ew — _ew_ , stop," Heather cut him off loudly. "Time to stop… that. Okay? There's a fix for this. Don't get all worked up."

Michael opened his eyes to look at her seriously. "What fix?"

Glancing over her shoulder at the door, she went down to a whisper. "You really don't have to tell anyone… yet. I don't _know_ if this applies across the board, but there _is_ a married couple working here already — they're not on the same floor, so I don't know if that's the same situation, but-"

"That's very different."

"But also similar - you know, once they're not liable for harassment suits, they don't really give a shit." Heather raised her hands. "Wait for wedding bells. You'd have a shot then, at least."

" _Yeah_ , but what if I-"

Michael's voice cut off as someone came down the hallway — again, they whipped around to catch the person's face before they were gone.

Zach appeared for just a moment through the cracked door, heading back to the lobby from the break room he'd previously hijacked. Michael glanced at Heather, who watched the door in silence, expressionless.

He waited quietly for Heather to get out of her daze, even clearing his throat for her attention — but she was lost somewhere in thought. So Michael sighed out his anxiety and closed out the Minesweeper game. "Screw that," he muttered and grabbed his phone. "I just _suck_ at puzzles."

"Me too," Heather said under her breath. Finally, she turned back around, returning to the conversation. "Anyway, in the _event_ that she _happens_ to get the job, I'll be here to keep you from blowing it right outta the gate."

Michael just huffed a breath as he began to text Holly:

 _ **You:**_

 _CODE RED! OFFICE RELATIONSHIPS NOT ALOUD!_

 _ **You:**_

 _WE ARE NOT A COUPLE_

 _ **You:**_

 _ILY GOOD LUCK :D_

"Whew. Hope she checks her texts before she gets here," he breathed, and set his phone down. Then, to Heather, he added, "Couldn't we get in trouble for lying, though?"

Heather chuckled, shrugging. "Not if you don't get caught."

"And what do we tell people at the end of this?" he asked nervously. "When we're married?"

At that, she shook her head. "Nothing. It's not their business. You weren't married, and now you are, and you want that on file."

Michael nodded slowly, though this all sounded sketchy to him.

Heather sat back in relaxation, yawning. "Your main worry should be making sure your _arch enemy_ doesn't find out and report you before you tie the knot."

He grunted. "Zach."

"That's the one."

"Why does he hate me, anyway?" Michael asked, indignant to this kind of random disapproval. "It's not my fault he wasn't qualified for this job. He should hate the people who hired-"

The elevator dinged outside, and Michael cut himself off.

"Shh-sh-sh! That might be Holly!"

"I'm shh-ing," Heather protested in a much quieter voice. Both of them eyed the door, and listened out for conversation down the hall. "I can't believe I'm about to meet the _gorgeous vixen_ -"

" _Shh!_ " he urged with a shushing finger, as he waited for someone to speak.

He could make out a faint male voice down the hall. " _Whoa, hey…"_

That was Zach, and it didn't sound as if he were greeting a stranger. Michael and Heather exchanged curious expressions.

" _-m fine."_

" _What happened?"_

" _Nothing happened,"_ Ginny shot back, voice unusually high and quiet. " _Don't worry about it."_

"Is she crying?" Michael asked, even though Heather couldn't have known any better than he did.

"I don't know," Heather whispered.

"Why's she so late? I figured she was sick or something."

"I don't _know_ ," she said again. Heather inched out of her seat and stepped lightly over to the doorway, holding up a finger for silence. Michael watched her approach the hallway and peek her head out.

" _Should I call someone?"_ Zach asked insistently. Michael's forehead shot up.

" _No, thanks."_

Suddenly, Heather leaped back from the door, just as footsteps came down the hallway and approached them. Michael clicked something random on his desktop and started typing. Heather sat down and pretended to be asleep.

Just in time, Ginny appeared in the doorway; Michael resisted the urge to look right up at her, acting as if he didn't notice her.

"Sorry I'm late," Ginny said.

"That's all right," Michael said and raised his head nonchalantly. "There's not much-"

His breath caught in his throat, until he choked on it. Discretion was gone in that moment.

Ginny had a big, swollen cheek — and upon further inspection, red marks around her wrists, and marks on her knuckles. Had she been in a fight?

Michael's mouth opened to speak, but he thought against it. His mind raced with all the _wrong_ things to say in this moment, including a comment on how horrible she looked, and the instinctive question of who she'd been fighting — and if it was her "not-boyfriend" who kept making her pick him up at bars. Also, he was tempted to yell "zoinks," but that was his natural internal reaction to everything.

Heather had quit trying to play possum, now completely staring at Ginny. She seemed equally stumped for words. Unfortunately, she didn't exercise restraint.

"Your face is…" she began, grimacing, "all pink-"

"You're not in your office," Ginny pointed out without skipping a beat, not harshly but not happily either. She then stepped right past Heather to her chair at the other end of the room, dropping her bag to the floor. She proceeded to ignore Heather's presence.

Heather shot Michael a look over Ginny's shoulder, but Michael just shrugged. Eventually, Heather, feeling supremely uncomfortable, rose to her fight and exercised her unique right to leave.

Michael wasn't sure what to do with this gigantic elephant in the room, with literally _no_ work to do and no way to talk to Ginny at this moment. She was already engrossed in her phone — probably on purpose — and maybe that was for the better.

So, in spite of himself, and in a pattern of self-destructive and self-loathing behavior, he opened Minesweeper again.

* * *

 _ **I was 16 when I wrote this. I'd never worked a job. Suspend your disbelief, because I had no understanding of how this situation would work and still don't. Whee.**_

 _ **Also, looking back on this... Heather, you're so bisexual I could scream. Stop bitching about men and date a woman.**_


	54. Dust Off Your Highest Hopes

**Chapter LIV**

 **Dust Off Your Highest Hopes**

* * *

 _So dust off your highest hopes;_

 _All I knew was pouring rain,_

 _And everything has changed._

\- "Everything Has Changed" by Taylor Swift ft. Ed Sheeran.

* * *

Even after only four days of living in their new apartment, she and Michael had accumulated quite a mess around the place. Living out of boxes wasn't the prettiest situation — fishing clothes out of cardboard wells in the morning and carelessly tearing them off at night didn't make for a tidy environment, and that fact would be the first thing Mom noticed once she was here.

So Holly spent the latter half of her morning cleaning, straightening every room and attempting to make even the storage room somewhat presentable. At the end of it all, this room became home to most of the clutter around the apartment. Holly planned to keep this door closed.

But she was more comfortable knowing that, if her mother wound up seeing the mess, all she'd be thinking about is the _future nursery_ that would take its place… especially with the way Mom had been talking lately.

In short, the woman had baby fever. "Don't you want to wait and go back to school first?" had fully transitioned into, "I like the name Amy for a girl! What do you think? Do you like Amy?"

" _Mom, I'm not pregnant."_

" _I know, but still,"_ she'd said.

" _I'm not even married yet,"_ Holly had added to her point. " _Surely you don't want-"_

" _No, of course not,"_ Mom cut her off, but a smile was close to an appearance. " _But… preparation isn't a bad thing."_

This had been the first time, in Holly's _entire existence_ , that her mother had encouraged children out of wedlock. Mom might have been even more excited for Holly's future than Holly was.

But this conversation had all taken place weeks before she and Michael had moved out, and every discussion since then had come from a place of concern. Holly had counted four times that Mom had offered to let her move back home — to back out if she wasn't ready yet. Holly appreciated the effort. Even months ago, Holly might have freaked out and taken her up on the deal. But she didn't need it now.

In fact, she wanted to talk to her mom about that today, while Michael wasn't around.

At the last moment, Holly had gone digging in the boxes to find the cup coasters — something she knew her mother would appreciate. She was setting them out on the coffee table just when a knock came at the door. She immediately rose to her feet, clipping her knee on the coffee table, but she hastened to the door anyway.

Holly opened the door, and behind stood Annie Flax, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a gigantic purse in the other. Holly smiled at her. "Hey, Mom! Thanks for coming-"

"Gas stove!" Mom cut her off, eyes widening with excitement as she craned her neck to see past Holly's shoulder. "Decent dishwasher — bad brand, best model. Oh, my god, look at those _tiles…_ "

Smiling at her enthusiasm, Holly reached out to accept the wine, which Mom nonchalantly handed over, her mind already preoccupied. "I'm glad you like it," she said, a bit surprised. "I didn't realize gas stoves were such a big deal to everyone."

"Oh, they're a _huge-ass_ deal," Mom insisted, and met Holly's eyes. "May I come in?"

"So you can make love to my kitchen?" Holly teased, but stepped back anyway. Her mother marched right into the apartment as if she owned it, dropping her purse on the counter. Her eyes scanned the room in all directions, as if she intended to memorize every detail before saying a word.

Holly shut the door as she watched her mother over her shoulder. "How was the drive?"

"Who cares?" she shot back, still taking it all in before she turned toward her daughter. Mom set her hands on her hips. "This is a great place. I can do _wonders_ with this."

At this, Holly simply chuckled, and went to put the wine away in one of the unclaimed kitchen cabinets. Mom continued to enthuse over the place.

"The wall space gives us a lot of options for pictures," Mom pointed out right off the bat. "You need to get some photos developed, and we'll find some cute frames — something artsy to match the _unique_ furniture setup."

 _The bean bag,_ Holly supplied internally. She turned back to watch her mother, who stood planted between the kitchen and the living room, studying the layout.

"Also we need books for those shelves right there," she continued, pointing toward the cabinet on the left. She looked back at Holly, adding, "I have some of your favorites at home if you want them. God knows I'm not attached to those Lonely Hawk books or whatever."

" _Lonesome Dove_ ," Holly corrected.

"Uh-huh." Mom then shoved her hands in her pockets, and turned to her daughter. "So are you gonna show me around or am I gonna have to snoop when you're in the bathroom?"

Holly chuckled at her bluntness, and gestured toward the hallway on their right. "I'll give you a tour. Let's go."

"All righty then," her mother replied. She followed right behind Holly, through the living room and into the hallway — meanwhile muttering, "I think the other way would have been more exciting, but whatever you say."

Holly was a bit surprised as she led her mother down the hall — pleased, but surprised. Mom was in a strangely peppy mood today. She had to wonder if something was wrong, or if her mom had gotten a little tipsy at one of her book club meetings, in which case Holly was just lucky, as she would then be exponentially easier to handle.

"So this is the bathroom," Holly said, and opened the door to the bare-bones bathroom. She reached over her mother's shoulder to turn the light on, standing back as the woman investigated. "We're thinking of repainting it, but we haven't decided on anything."

"You should do a rosy color on the walls," Mom said without hesitation. Glancing at Holly, she gestured toward the cabinets and added, "The dark wood would look great with a salmon-rose color — and some fluffy white towels… White, brown, and rose. What do you think?"

She was taken aback by all this forethought, but then, her mother was a visionary. Holly could still remember when Mom had redecorated her restaurant, back when Holly was in middle school. Mom wouldn't let her pick anything except the color of the kitchen. That's how she'd wound up with a purple kitchen.

"I'll ask Michael about it," Holly decided, smiling. "Let me show you the bedroom…"

Mom turned to leave the bathroom, flipping the light off, nodding. Holly continued down the hall to the master bedroom on the left, and mentally ran through her mind again, hoping she had made sure to clean everything up. One surprise appearance of lingerie and Holly would never hear the end of it.

"So this is," Holly began with a deep breath as she opened the bedroom door, "also not clean. Um, but we've already unpacked some of our things…"

"I like it," she said, nodding again. "It has that nice natural light coming over the bed. That's really nice."

Holly watched her moment for a moment, curious. She smiled to herself, lowering her voice as she mumbled, "Not a negative word. I'm pleased."

At that, Mom's examination stopped; she looked at Holly, and shrugged. "Well, I just… maybe I'm overdoing it, but I just… wanted to show that I'm supportive of this," Mom explained, as she gestured at the room around them. "This step that you're taking. I'm proud."

This kind of statement was rare from her mother, and Holly wasn't sure how to take it. Mom wasn't quick to make a point of validation. Yet, here she was, doing it — expressing her feelings. Now Holly was _really_ worried.

Afraid to speak and ruin the moment, Holly just smiled, and nodded back toward the hallway. "One more room. The one you've been waiting for."

Mom's eyebrows shot up. "The towel closet."

Holly chuckled, motioning for her to follow. "Yes, the _towel closet_. I know you've been dying to ask about it."

"Well, I didn't wanna be rude," she joked, and her expression, despite obvious resistance, did edge toward a smile. This made Holly smile, and she quickly averted her face before her mother noticed.

Across the hall, Holly opened the door to reveal a room full of boxes, junk, and more boxes — the carpet fluffy if a little worn, with little imprints where Colin's daughter's furniture had pressed into the carpet. Holly bit her lip as she entered, her mother stepping behind her.

"So this is acting as a storage room right now," Holly introduced the room, hands gesturing toward the piles of boxes in the corners and dropping to her sides. "It's got a long way to go, but it's eventually going to be… the nursery," she said with an anxious, excited sigh.

Mom didn't respond right away as she took everything in. Holly expected a comment or two about the mess, followed by many prompting questions about future babies and the nursery's color scheme, all for which Holly didn't have answers yet.

Instead, her mom covered her mouth.

Holly took a deep breath, just to make sure the boxes didn't smell like mildew or anything.

"I'm-" Mom began, but her voice cut out. Her eyes met Holly's for a long moment, and then she looked back at the messy to-be-nursery, and her shoulders sank. She shook her head.

"Is something wrong?" Holly asked nervously.

"Nope! Not- no," Mom shot back, blinking furiously. She cleared her throat. "It's just… dusty."

Holly knew this was a half-truth, but she didn't argue. "Sorry about that."

"No, yeah, the room looks good," she continued right away. Her gaze landed on the window on the left for a considerable amount of time. "I think it's a good amount of room for- probably even for two kids, if you want to… Oh, boy. I'm sorry."

Holly smiled, her hand on her mother's shoulder. "Mom-"

"This is-" Mom said; and when she looked at Holly, her eyes were a little teary. "Gah- shit. I thought I was gonna be okay, but you're… gonna have babies."

"Yeah," Holly said, nodding. She bit her lip.

Her mom studied her face, and finally, let her smile show through. She shrugged. "I'm just so happy… that you're happy, and that this is happening for you."

Her expression melted. "Mom…"

"My baby girl's gonna have babies," Mom said, her words thick with emotion, just as Holly pulled her into a hug.

Holly's arms wrapped tightly around her mom, squeezing her with all the excitement in her body; Mom huffed a loud breath as she struggled to regain control of her emotions. Holly just hugged her, grinning widely.

"Damn it," Mom muttered as she retreated from the hug, and dabbed at her eyes. She sniffed. "I'm trying not to- I'm trying to be sensitive. I'm not rushing you into anything — you know that."

"It's okay," Holly assured her.

"I know this is hard for you," she continued anyway, glancing around at the room. "I want you to know that I'm here for you no matter what you do — and if it's to wait, and to move back in — or if you just want to wait on kids, I'm okay. There's no pressure."

"Mom," Holly tried again, and gave her mom's arm a squeeze. "Thank you, really, for being so sensitive to what I've been going through… but I did want to talk to you about that."

Mom looked up, her eyebrows peaked in concern. "Oh… okay. Is everything okay?"

Holly nodded quickly, smiling. "Yeah, it is. It's way better than okay, actually."

"You're pregnant."

Holly's eyes widened. " _No_! No, not yet. It… this isn't about babies, Mom."

Her mother didn't seem embarrassed by the assumption at all, leaning back against the doorway. "Oh, sorry. I guess I have grandmommy-brain already. Continue — I'm listening." She gestured at Holly with her hand, and crossed her arms.

So Holly took a quick breath, her eyes wandering for a moment; she leaned on the opposite side of the doorway. "So…" she began, biting her lip. She had to look away to continue, already blushing.

Mom just waited quietly.

"So when we were unloading everything from storage," Holly finally started, "I was preparing myself for this big thing, as if something was going to change once I took this step. And I was scared — I was really, _just_ _terrified_."

At that, Mom nodded. "I know you were."

Holly smiled, nodding back. "I was, but then… Then it happened, Mom. I just woke up in this new place — no job, no friends, no family with me — and I just felt… exactly the same," she realized, and shook her head. "I was with him and I felt completely safe, and completely — loved, and just… _covered_. And I don't know what to do with that."

Her expression melted as she listened. "What do you want to do?" Mom asked gently.

"I want to marry him," Holly said, without having to think. "Soon. Now, maybe."

Mom's eyebrows shot up; her lips parted. "Wow," she breathed, and cleared her throat. "I wasn't expecting that."

Holly bobbed her head, covering her mouth to hide some of the beaming. "I know. I just… I feel _invincible_ , Mom! I feel like anything could happen, in the whole world, and I would be okay, you know?"

"Wow," Mom repeated, still in shock. She did smile, though. "I'm — I'm so glad, honey."

"So what do you think?" Holly asked right away. "Soon? How soon do you think we could do it, feasibly?"

"Well, slow down for a second," her mother said, holding up a hand to steady her. "Let's think about this. I mean, I know this feeling, honey, but you want a wedding that you'll remember."

"I wouldn't elope or anything," she assured her, and looked in at the future-nursery. "This winter, maybe — I don't know. I just don't want to wait until next _year,_ especially with Dad doing the way he is. I want him to be able to remember the wedding, for a little while at least."

Mom seemed surprised by this. "Well, honey, I don't know if he'll be… doing _that_ well."

"But he's still remembering so many things, Mom. I mean, maybe," Holly said, shrugging her shoulders. "Maybe he's got longer than we thought. He still remembers who you are, and who I am, age notwithstanding. And maybe…"

"Maybe what?" Mom asked, and cocked her head to the side.

Holly hesitated to finish, because the idea sounded stupid, but she had to say it. "Maybe… he could get to know my kids."

This brought Mom to a full stop, and she said nothing.

The room grew hushed as Holly averted her eyes, feeling as though she'd said too much — because she knew Mom didn't really believe that this was a possibility. All the idea served to do was to make the conversation uncomfortable, as they both were forced to consider… that he probably wouldn't get to know her children. Not really, anyway.

"Hol, you don't know…"

Holly looked up at her mother, who finally broke the silence with an unreadable expression. She chewed on her lip.

Mom sighed. "How happy this makes me."

Holly's eyebrows rose, not expecting this.

"I mean," Mom continued, half-chuckling. "I came here thinking I was gonna have to convince you that this was a good step, and that you'd be apprehensive — and here you are, talking about the wedding and kids and… If you want to, yes. You should get married whenever you and Michael decide is best. And I will help make that plan."

"Really?" Holly asked quickly, brow furrowed. "You think you could do that?"

"Hell yeah, I can. I want you to be happy — I would do _anything_ , to make sure you're happy, so yes. If you want to get married _tomorrow_ , I will bake the cake tonight."

Holly's heart melted, and she beamed at her mother. "Thank you, Mom. That… means so much to me."

Mom nodded slowly, reaching out for Holly's hands. She took them quietly and looked at them for a moment — looked at the ring, quite obviously, and then back up at Holly.

"But don't rush for your father's sake," Mom finished seriously. When Holly's expression froze, she elaborated; "Your dad is still gonna be your dad, no matter how much he remembers. All he'll care about is that you're happy, right?"

Holly was hesitant to agree, but eventually nodded, eyes downcast. "Right. I know."

"But I do need to tell you," she added, and her voice lowered. "For the wedding, your dad… is gonna need some help getting around. Seeing a bunch of family he doesn't know, walking around everywhere — it's all gonna be stressful for him. And I could definitely handle it myself, but for your _wedding_ day, I… I want to be with you, in the morning and in the dressing room."

Holly didn't respond at first, confused. "What do you mean?"

"This nursing student," Mom explained right away. "Erica — she's with him right now at his golf game. She's agreed to start helping out during the week as part of her training. I think she'd be happy to accompany him at the wedding…" she finished, sounding nervous. "If that's okay with you, of course."

Now for that one, Holly couldn't begin to think of a response. She just stared blankly at her mother, processing…

In all of her days, Annie Flax had never once admitted that she couldn't do something, and never, ever, _ever_ did she delegate. She was a stubborn, prideful woman who did not share a burden — something which Holly might have inherited — _especially_ when it came to Dad. Holly didn't even know what to think of it.

If Michael were here, he would have volunteered to pinch her, just to break the silence. But he wasn't.

Finally, Mom added, "Not that I can't handle it, because I _can_. I just thought I might-"

" _It's a threat! A level! A level-level threat! He's the greatest hockey star I ever seen yet!"_

She was cut off by her ringtone going off in Holly's pocket. Mom shrugged. "It's just an option."

" _-what? Midnight! Threat level who?"_

Holly nodded, and pulled her phone out. She put it on speaker, grinning as she greeted, "Mike-aroni and cheese. What can I do ya for?"

" _Why, hello, Holiver Twist,"_ Michael replied through the phone.

Mom scowled at these puns, sending a silent groan Holly's way. She just smiled at her mother and her sheer lack of humor.

"I'm here with Mom," Holly said, because she knew Mom would love that. "Is that all right?"

She could hear Michael's small gasp over the line.

" _ **Annie Oakley-**_ "

"Nope," Mom cut him off, and she shook her head firmly. "Talk to Holly."

" _All right, then,"_ he relented in his southern accent before clearing his throat. " _Yeah, so I gotta be fast, because they can't know I'm talking to you, but guess what?"_

"What?"

"Why can't they know that?" Mom interrupted, suddenly back in this conversation.

" _I thought I wasn't allowed to talk to you."_

Mom raised an eyebrow at that. "You aren't allowed to _pun_ at me. Why can't they know that you're talking to your fiancee?"

Michael hesitated, making a small noise of fluster, and eventually stuttered, " _It-it's complicated — there's a rule on office romances and- anyway, I've gotta- Holly! Hey."_

"Hey," Holly echoed with a grin. "What am I guessing?"

"If there's a rule on office romances, how are you supposed to work there with him?" Mom asked, still lost. "You're just gonna keep it a secret forever?"

" _Only until we get married!"_ Michael sang, unaware of what he was doing.

Mom's eyes widened, and she instantly smacked her hand over the phone.

" _Ow!"_

"Is that why this whole thing started?" Mom asked in a hushed tone. "You want to get-"

"Michael, what's the news?" Holly cut her off pointedly as she removed her mother's hand from the screen. She sent a serious look at Mom, whose brow was furrowed.

" _Well, I just overheard that they're not doing any more interviews for the job — which means that out of whoever they interviewed, they picked somebody."_

At that, both Holly and Mom were silent. They met eyes for a moment.

"Do you think that means-"

" _There's a good chance,"_ Michael said, and his voice sounded peppy. Then a distant sound interrupted the call, and then a loud shuffling. " _Okie-doke, gotta go. Love you, boo."_

"Love you," Holly said just before the line clicked.

Then she looked up at her mom, who was expressionless. Holly shoved her phone down in her pocket, silently, and watched her mother slowly reanimate.

"You're rushing the wedding," Mom began, tone dangerously low, "not because you're pregnant, or because of your dad, or for any of the real reasons — just because you want this _job_?"

"I have my reasons, Mom," she shot back quickly. "And if you don't criticize me, I'll show you the paint ideas for the living room."

* * *

 _ **It's getting to the point that with every obscure comment, I can't tell if I'm referencing the show, a deleted scene, a previous chapter, or some in-joke I had with someone in real life. Also, is this taste in music 2016 or what?**_


	55. Passing Notes in Secrecy

**Chapter LV**

 **Passing Notes in Secrecy**

* * *

 _The playful conversation starts;_

 _Counter all your quick remarks, like_

 _Passing notes in secrecy…_

\- "Enchanted" by Taylor Swift.

* * *

"All right. Let's try this again."

Michael studied the floating pieces of white dust with a great, almost peaceful focus, as they slid down against the glass, spinning and spiraling down to the bottom of the globe. In the haze stood a miniature Buddy the Elf, smiling in his familiar way. Michael smiled back at him, unable to contain his happiness.

He was finally gonna give it back to Holly today.

Because she got the job. She got the job, she got the job, she got the _job_ and he was so excited that he could hardly sit _still_ …

"Earth to Michael," Heather interrupted his mindless staring. He looked up.

"Right," he said, as though he'd been listening the whole time. He set the snow globe down, giving it a look of admiration before asking, "Uh, what, though?"

Heather, sitting on the corner of his desk, wore a look of exasperation — and she snapped her fingers, signaling him to actually meet her eyes. "Hey."

"Hi," he replied.

"We have to run over this again," Heather decided, and leaned in slightly. "And you have to pay attention. Do you _want_ this to work?"

Michael nodded as he adjusted the snow globe beside his desktop. "I do…"

When he looked back up at Heather, her brow was furrowed in a threatening manner. After a pause, she muttered, "A'right," in that laidback tone that meant she was irritated; and she reached over the computer to snatch his snow globe. Michael's head shot up.

"Hey, no! I _need_ that," Michael protested. He tried to take it from her, but she held it up too high. "I have to give it- _hey_ , I have to give her that when she gets here. We share it."

Heather shook her head and pointed. "See? That's the stuff. You can't do that stuff. You have to appear completely platonic or this is all over. Ginny, any sign?"

Michael had almost forgotten she was in the room; he spun his chair around to see Ginny sitting by the window, watching the road down below in anticipation of Holly's car. Ginny shook her head sleepily. "Nope."

"Are you actually watching?"

"Yep."

Heather hesitated to respond, lips parted as if to argue — but nothing.

Friday was Holly's first day at the Department of Natural Resources, and Michael, as an "old coworker," was going to greet her in the lobby upon her arrival. Heather had told him he shouldn't be the first one out there, and Ginny had halfheartedly agreed as she sat on the floor with what looked like a deconstructed Blu-Ray player. And yet, he was doing it anyway.

With a large sigh, Heather snapped him back into focus. "Let's go through it one more time." Then she straightened up her shoulders and added in a high-pitched voice, "I'm Holly. I just walked in. What do you say?"

Michael instantly shook his head. "Okay, her voice doesn't sound like that. Try a bit lower."

Heather blinked. "Okay… _how's this_?"

"Smoother," he said still. "Softer and smoother, like you're whispering everything you say but everyone can still hear you."

"Michael."

"Not quite."

"Michael, we don't have much more time," Heather insisted lowly, and she leaned in further. "I just walked in. What do you _say_?"

" _Okay_ , okay," Michael said, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if it isn't miss Holly Flax. How in the world did you get all the way up here?"

Heather looked at him for a moment, and shook her head firmly. "Wrong. What did we discuss?"

Michael's expression soured. "I know what we discussed, but this is better. It has a _soul_."

"'Miss Flax, it's nice to see you again,'" Heather quoted her earlier self. "Then you can add some kind of small talk. 'How was traffic?' 'It's raining pretty hard out there.' Maybe ask her how she's been doing, if you sound really detached about it — like you don't really care if she's been doing good, but hey-"

"I see a car!" Ginny announced, tapping on the glass. "I see a car — is that her?"

"Lemme see!" Michael shouted as he launched out of his chair and rushed toward the window.

"Hey! We aren't finished!"

"Where?" he asked, looking up at Ginny and back at the window. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, my _god,_ oh, my god, there she is. She's pulling in!"

"That means we have ten minutes," Heather said, scooting across the desk. Her arms were crossed. "Nine if she catches the elevator. Can we finish this?"

Down below, Holly was stepping out of her car, and Michael examined her quickly — just to get a feel for what he would be trying to ignore for the rest of the day. She'd curled her hair, of course — something she liked to do now that her hair was long enough — and where he'd been hoping for pants, she wore a modest pencil skirt… and black heels.

"Gah- she looks so pretty," Michael muttered to himself, chewing on his lip nervously. "That… god… Couldn't she have just _tried_ to look bad?"

Heather let out a loud sigh behind him. "Just promise me you'll keep out of her way," she implored. Michael turned to look at her, and her voice lowered. "Just for the first couple of weeks. Then you can gradually build it up."

"Fine," he said, and slumped back to his desk, dropping with a thud. "She'll probably be too busy, anyway. Learning how the sausage gets made, how you say."

"Exactly," Heather agreed. "And- also, remember to keep your eyes above shoulder-level. No familiar looks. You two are strangers."

"Can I at least show her to her desk?" Michael asked, glancing between Heather and Ginny, who was back on the floor with her project and wires. "C'mon. I'll be aloof — cold, even."

"Frigid," Heather offered. "Maybe if you imply that you're too busy to be doing this, but you feel obligated to help… then you could pull it off."

Michael nodded slowly, lips pursed. "Okay. Gotcha. Frigid."

"Good," she said, and hopped off the desk. "Any more questions before we go?"

"Can I hug her?"

" _No_ , Mi- no," Heather stopped him right away. "Everybody already knows that you two worked together and you helped her get the job, _plus_ she's got a ring on her finger. You have to kill this before it even _becomes_ a rumor."

"She's probably inside by now," Ginny mumbled from the floor. She held up a big cluster of blue and yellow wires, and froze when both he and Heather set eyes on her. "I'm… probably."

"What the hell is going on with that right there?" Heather had to ask, breaking her long, studious, concerned silence. She furrowed her brow as she squinted down at it. "Are you abusing a DVD player?"

"Blu-Ray," Ginny replied mindlessly.

Meanwhile, Michael started up on his feet and rapped on the edge of his desk. "I am so, so nervous, you guys. What if I mess it up?"

"Why, though?" Heather pressed, and she bent over to look at it.

"I'm harvesting parts for… things," Ginny said, her voice trailing off.

"Things?" she asked, eyes widening. "That sounds shifty."

"Hello?" Michael called between the two. "I'm panicking. Someone talk me down…"

"Are you making a bomb, Ginny?"

Ginny instantly shook her head. "Nope. Not a bomb."

Heather didn't seem to believe this, still watching as Ginny pored over the wires in the open box. "Could you… make a bomb, though?"

She merely shrugged.

Heather stiffened, and stood up straight again. She side-eyed Michael widely, clearing her throat. He sent her a nervous look.

"Okay, then," Michael eventually said as he eyed the door. "I guess I'm gonna go out there. Heather, back me up."

"Nope."

"Ginny, you too," he said anyway; and then he stopped in his tracks, looking back at Heather. "What? Why not? I need you!"

"I can't," she said, throwing her hands up. "Zach is out there. I don't have the energy to deal with that today."

"But what if I panic?" he asked frantically.

Heather just turned her back to him, heading around his desk. "Just get creative," she suggested, and dropped down into his seat with finality.

"I'll come," Ginny volunteered as she stood up, metal box in hand. She half-smiled at Michael. "Get to see if she lives up to the hype."

"Oh, she will," Michael promised, smiling. "She's just… the best. God, I can't wait for you to meet her!"

"Stop smiling," Heather warned from the other side of the room, chair turned toward the windows. She wasn't even facing him, and somehow, she'd known.

Michael chuckled, sounding like something between freaking-out-excited and freaking-out-nervous — he promptly stretched his mouth into a neutral expression. He swallowed, and cleared his throat, and hummed anxiously to himself…

"Okay," he said, opening his eyes. "It's go-time."

So he opened the door — and in doing so, he stepped into a new character: Michael Scott, Director of Paper Distribution at the Boulder Department of Natural Resources, professional man, betrothed to a secret third-party — completely straight-laced and non-flirtatious. Michael Scott, professional man, did _not_ wear his heart on his sleeve, and he was not interested in cute blondes with cute lipstick. If anything, Michael Scott, professional man, found H.R. to be a pain in the ass.

"The elevator's closed," Ginny informed him, and drew him out of his focus.

Michael followed her gaze down the hall, to lobby, where, indeed, the elevator was in motion. Zach was also at attention, and appeared mildly irritated — which indicated a phone conversation with Louise downstairs — which indicated that Holly was on her way up.

"Okay," he mumbled to himself as they started down the hallway. "'Miss Flax, how was- _Miss Flax, how was the traffic?_ '" He cleared his throat. "Be frigid, be frigid, be- Zach, m'boy!"

Zach lifted his head from his screen just long enough to make eye contact before looking away. "Hello, Michael."

Michael chuckled at his charisma and stopped at his desk, leaning on the edge casually. "How's the secretary-ing treating ya today? Any hot chicks come through?"

At that, Zach did look up, indignantly. "I have a girlfriend," he replied, voice clipped — and his gaze dropped just over Michael's shoulder for a second, before returning to his desktop.

Curious, Michael looked at Ginny, who was on his left. Then he glanced back over his shoulder, and found no one in the hallway. So he gave up on that.

"H.R. replacement coming in today?" Michael asked, trying not to sound too invested in it. "Or was it tomorrow?"

Zach clicked something and began typing as he spoke. "Try in sixty seconds."

A lump formed in Michael's throat. "Oh. Then I guess I'll greet her while I'm here."

"That's interesting. Please don't crowd my desk."

"Hey, Zach," Ginny interrupted this lively rat-a-tat in a lowered voice. "I found the last of the parts I need for your birthday present. I just need the next week to put everything together."

Zach instantly raised his hand for a high-five, and Ginny smacked it. Her shy smile widened.

Looking between the two for a moment, Michael finally asked, "What present?"

"Ginny's making me a custom Roomba," Zach said matter-of-factly.

" _With_ secret special features," Ginny added. Zach shot finger guns at her, and she returned fire.

Michael had to wonder what was going on there — and he might have asked, but there was no time, because the elevator dinged and all three of them spun around at the noise. And Michael's heart spazzed out in his chest.

"That's her," Zach mumbled, sounding disinterested.

Out from the elevator stepped a new character: Holly Flax, the new H.R. rep whom Michael knew only from a few months of working together in Pennsylvania — only kind of pretty with her shiny hair and pretty eyelashes and red, red lips, and only kind of sexy in her modest but fitting top and skirt which showed her _legs_ all the way down to her high heels, which were only _kind of_ a turn-on — just an average woman who didn't interest Michael Scott, professional man, betrothed to another, in the slightest.

The roleplay almost made it sexier. He had to look over at Zach's stupid face to keep himself calm and cool.

Zach sent him a glare, though, so he had to stop.

Holly shifted her box in her hands and, once she saw them, froze. "Oh! So I guess this is the right floor."

"It sure is," Michael said, fighting back a smile as he waved her over. "It's great to see you again, Miss Flax. Welcome to the floor."

"Thank you," Holly said right back as she approached the desk — and she smiled at Ginny. "Hi."

"Hi," Ginny replied shyly. Her eyes fell down to Holly's arms. "Can I… I can take your box, or something."

Holly's eyebrows shot up. "That's okay! I've carried this thing around a lot," she said, chuckling. Then she moved the box under one arm so she could extend a hand. "I'm Holly Flax. I'll be taking over H.R."

"Ah, no! A takeover!" Michael joked quietly, and watched them shake hands. Then Holly turned to Michael, reaching for a handshake. His eyes widened. "Oh! Yesh."

They shook hands, as briefly as they could, and Michael looked her in the eyes for just a moment — and in them, he could see the slight excitement — the mischief of being one of the few who knew their secret — the adorable innocence she wore as she looked at him, as if she only barely knew him. It was all _extremely_ sexy.

Michael caught his breath before he'd lost it and said, "Well, since Zach has less than no manners, may I show you to your new office?"

"Why, _soy_ - _tainly_ ," Holly replied instinctively. Quickly, she seemed to realize what she'd done, and she cleared her throat. "I mean, yes. Thank you."

It took all the strength in his body to keep from giggling at her, but he managed, somehow. He also had to resist the urge to reach for her hand as she walked up beside him — or to subtly touch her butt once she got a little bit ahead of him — but again, he managed.

"How was the traffic?" Michael recited, glancing back at Holly for only a second. She was smiling, but not in an obvious way. On her left, Ginny edged up behind them to third-wheel the conversation.

"It wasn't too bad. Mom's- my mom's car needs an oil change soon," Holly said with an almost-slip, and adjusted the box in her arms. "I keep trying to convince her to go get one, but apparently she has a bad relationship with the only good car place downtown."

 _That sounds like her_ , he wanted to say. But he just smiled.

"Who says there's only one good car place?" came a familiar voice — the voice of someone who had minutes ago abandoned him to hide from Zach. Michael spun around to see Heather, and stopped right in the middle of the hallway. She shrugged. "I've never had any trouble with the Auto Parts by the theater."

Holly seemed surprised at the new stranger, but smiled anyway. "I haven't either, but my mother's convinced that they stole her CDs last time she dropped her car off there, so that's a non-starter."

"Oh, I wouldn't put it past them," Heather said right away, waving a hand at the notion. "But they're fast as hell if your car is empty."

At that, Holly blinked for a second — and then laughed. "I'm Holly Flax, H.R.," she said, extending her hand and nearly dropping her box.

Heather smiled as she shook her hand. "Heather Smith, and that one over there is Ginnifer Howard," she said, pointing at Ginny. "We're gonna be your welcoming crew from here out, right?"

Ginny nodded quickly. "Mhm."

"Oh," Holly said, eyebrows raised. "Thank you. I guess I should learn about the operation here. Hopefully it's not too complicated."

"It can be," Ginny warned, mischief spelled in her expression.

"Oh, yeah," Heather agreed; and she lowered her voice. "Plus, it feels like we both just know _so much_ about you already…"

"Okay, jackals," Michael interrupted, turning around before Heather could say anything embarrassing. Holly was already grinning at him. "Let's let her settle in before… any of that happens. Excuse us."

Heather and Ginny both smiled at him, Heather even winking — but when Holly looked back at them, their expressions disappeared.

"Well, welcome to the building," Heather said finally, and nodded at Holly before turning on her heel. Ginny just grinned shyly before following Heather around the corner.

That left Michael and Holly alone in the middle of the back hallway, and all the office doors were closed — the back hallway was full of a bunch of snores compared to the front hallway — and no one was watching. Holly met his eyes, and his lungs deflated.

The longer he looked at her, the deeper she blushed. They stood in silence for a moment.

Eventually, Holly gestured toward the only open door in the stretch. "Is this mine?" she asked softly, smiling.

Michael's eyebrows rose, and he inched toward the room. "Yes, it is. It's kinda small…"

"Bigger than a cubicle," Holly said as she stepped into the doorway, looking around.

The room was indeed small, with one desk, one desk chair, one extra chair, one trash can, and one window. And it was in the back with all the lame people. Michael had wanted them to find better for her.

But she seemed pretty ecstatic about it, grinning widely as she dropped her box on her new desk and turned back to him. "I love it," she finally said, and threw her hands up.

"You do?" he asked.

Holly nodded quickly, still beaming. "Shut the door," she added under her breath.

Michael gladly shut the door, cutting them off from the rest of the office.

Instantly, Holly stepped toward him, and he met her halfway; she was tall enough in her high heels to easily slip her arms around his neck. She kissed him, tightening her hug to bring him closer. Michael's shoulders caved, his arms looping at her waist, and his lips surrendered to hers. She kissed him again, with a happy sigh.

"Mm," Holly hummed, and broke off the kiss. Michael opened his eyes to catch a blush on her face. "You should probably get back out there."

Michael frowned. "Okay… wait."

She raised her eyebrows.

He grinned, forehead resting on hers. "One more?"

Holly's serious expression disappeared, and she stretched up to give him another kiss.

* * *

 _ **How... did I not realize I was gay? Honestly, a good 30% of this story is just describing Holly. Wake up, 16-year-old-me - you're a lesbian!**_


	56. Drown Me in Love

**Chapter LVI**

 **Drown Me in Love**

* * *

 _Come on, get higher; loosen my lips._

 _Faith and desire, and the swing of your hips…_

 _Just pull me down hard,_

 _And drown me in love._

\- "Come On Get Higher" by Matt Nathanson.

* * *

"Okay… Open your eyes."

Holly sat leaned over her elbows at the bar, eyes shut against the bright morning light flooding the room through the sliding doors behind her. She had been sitting there in this manner for many minutes now, listening to Michael's rambling voice and the hissing of a pan on the stove, until when he finally gave her this permission — and she smiled, shrugging her shoulders. "All right…"

She opened her eyes, blinking quickly, to see Michael's innocent face watching her. He gestured to the counter in front of her, so she looked down, eyebrows raised.

She encountered a _gigantic_ pancake with dollops of whipped cream and strawberries outlining the edges — the whole thing more or less in the shape of a heart. Holly chuckled, covering her mouth.

"Do you like?" Michael asked excitedly as he stepped up to the other side of the counter.

Her head bobbed up and down. "I do," she said, grin widening when she met his eyes. "It's _so_ much better than the penis."

"Well, I'm getting practice," he said with a shrug.

Michael had just opened his new griddle this morning, and he was really, _really_ enjoying himself. And Holly enjoyed watching him, in his boxers and his messy hair, flipping pancakes like a modern man. It was _sexy_.

" _Bon appetit_ ," Michael interrupted the sex-eyes she was making at him right now — but the stare he was giving her suggested he was thinking along the same lines. He promptly handed her a fork. "Would you like some milk to go with that? Or juice, perhaps?"

Holly accepted the fork and shook her head. "No, thank you… but I _would_ like to kiss the cook," she replied, narrowing her eyes. "If I may."

"Mm, you may," he remarked as he leaned over the counter. Holly reached out for his Tigger apron to draw him closer; she rose up off her knees to meet his lips, giving him a good, deep kiss. He sighed contentedly, and the noise rumbled in her ears.

In their first week of living together, Holly still couldn't get used to the fact that if he were doing something sexy, she could just make out with him right there. It was like a whole new world had opened up to her, in which she could watch Michael cook half-naked and make out with him over a plate of semi-heart-shaped pancakes…

This whole new world was interrupted by the sound of a ringing cell phone. More specifically, they were interrupted by the Imperial March, her mother's ringtone.

And Holly's instinct was to ignore it and kiss him some more — but Michael seemed strangely up for the challenge, so he pulled back and looked over at her phone. "I've got this," he decided before Holly could reach for it.

"It's Mom."

"I know," Michael assured her as he answered the phone, lifting it to his ear. "Hello, Annie. How are you this fine weekend?"

Holly smiled at him, forking a piece of her pancake.

"I'm making out with your daughter; and you?"

She nearly choked on that piece of pancake, but Michael just chuckled at her. When she was quiet, she could make out her mother's voice: " _Well, can I borrow her for a second? I'll be quick… so you can suck her face off some more."_

Holly's head almost smacked down into her pancake at the mere _idea_ of this conversation happening.

"That's very considerate of you, Annie. I'll put her on."

Michael then covered the phone with his hand and looked back at Holly, who was caught between embarrassment and amusement. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he added privately, "Meet me in the shower?"

"Mhm," she hummed, nodding — and she reached out to steal one more kiss before she had to let him go. He winked at her as he headed around the counter.

Raising the phone to her head, she quickly pointed at the oven. "Turn off the-"

"Yep," he said, and spun on his heel to go turn off the stove.

Holly then took a bite and uncovered her cell phone. "Hey, Mom," she greeted quickly. "What's up?"

" _How was it?"_

This question was a little too vague for Holly.

She thought it over as she watched Michael come back around the counter, and as he passed by her, she smiled and held up a finger. His only response was to give her ass a squeeze before he retreated into the hallway.

"How was…"

" _The job!"_ Mom explained, sounding _very_ excited. " _Was your boss an ass? Were the men asses? And how_ _ **were**_ _their asses?"_

"Mom!" Holly protested with a squeaky voice.

" _Sorry, sorry,"_ she said right away. " _It's an instinct. But how was it? Did you make any friends?"_

Holly smiled, stuffing her face with more pancake, and replied with a full mouth, "It was nice!" She glanced down the hallway in case Michael was listening. "I met Michael's girlfriends today."

" _Gross. Did you lay down the law?"_

"No, Mom, I was kidding. They're really nice," Holly replied, half-listening. "My office is nice, too. I've never had my own office before."

" _Well, you're with a big establishment now. No more selling paper."_

She nodded as she chewed. "No more selling paper."

" _How's the pay?"_

Holly blinked. "That's… I haven't received payment yet, Mom. I've worked there one day."

" _I know, but hopefully it's better,"_ Mom pointed out, seemingly randomly. " _If you're pushing the wedding up, you might want save up a little more for the honeymoon."_

Her fork clinked on her plate. She peeked into the hallway again.

" _Have you talked to Michael about it yet?"_

"Nope," Holly admitted — and she jolted at the sound of the shower starting down the hall. "No, I haven't. I need to."

" _Why the hell not?"_ Mom asked suddenly. She quickly adjusted her tone. " _Sorry, I'm not- I don't wanna push you. But don't you want to tell him? I mean, this isn't_ _ **bad**_ _news."_

"I know," she whispered, while painting her pancake with whipped cream. "I just don't wanna ruin anything. Things are going so well here, and it just feels like one tiny thing could blow it all up."

" _Like what? Like he's gonna leave?"_

The tone of her question made Holly feel silly for saying it. She lowered her eyes, staring at the half-eaten heart before her. "Maybe."

" _ **Holly Partridge Flax**_ _, you listen to me."_

Holly's head shot up at the volume of her voice.

Mom then continued in a whisper, " _That dumbass is_ _**head-over-heels**_ _for you. Nothing you could say or do could possibly dick this up."_

"You don't know that," Holly argued quietly.

" _I know everything,"_ she said, a smirk in her voice. " _Now, forget all that nonsense. Are you two set to come over tomorrow night?"_

Then Michael's voice burst in from down the hall, and Holly completely jumped out of her skin. "Hey, where're the towels?"

"In the red..." Holly began as she spun to face him at the end of the hallway — but her voice trailed off when she saw him.

He was naked. He was standing halfway past the corner of the hall, and she had a complete view of his body, and he was just standing there, naked.

Holly took a deep breath and repeated more softly, "In the red tubs."

" _What?"_

She forced her head forward, biting down on her lip. "Nothing, Mom."

" _Are you coming over tomorrow or not?"_

"Yes, Mom," Holly said, and picked up her plate. She stepped off the barstool immediately and headed for the trash can. "Can I call you back in a bit?"

" _No!"_ Mom insisted. " _I need to talk to you about paint colors before I go to Lowe's this afternoon. I'm gonna find you the perfect scheme for your nursery."_

"Thanks, Mom, but we might…" she said, scraping her food off into the trash can. "We might wanna wait on that until we actually… just, we should wait on that."

" _Fine, fine. So about dinner tomorrow…"_

Holly's lungs deflated as she set her plate in the sink, her eyes set on her hands but her mind revisiting the image of naked Michael down the hall… just waiting for her…

She needed to hurry this conversation up.

" _Also, your father just got his medication switched again, so he's been pretty tired the past few days. I don't know if he'll be up to hanging out with us…"_

"That's okay," Holly assured her, and stepped out of the kitchen. "Mom, I really need to go."

" _Well, for god's sake, Hol. We haven't talked since Wednesday."_

"I know," she said. She peeked down the hall, just in case Michael was still there with his ass on display. Unfortunately, he was not.

" _Are you really too busy for a ten minute conversation with me?"_

Holly inched down the hallway, muttering, "I'm not, which is why I'll be there for dinner and games _tomorrow night_."

He'd left the bedroom door open, and she could hear the shower water running without her. She pressed a hand over the mic.

" _Fine. I'm still looking at nursery colors while I'm out."_

"Will do," Holly replied without even registering her words, and she stepped into the doorway of the master bathroom, peeking inside…

And she stopped in her tracks.

" _Will do what?"_

Michael stood completely unclothed in front of the shower — not inside yet, not wet yet, but she was already anticipating that. He was working with hanging the towel on the convoluted rack they'd purchased, but when she stepped into sight, he stopped to look up at her. And his eyes lit up, but her gaze got lost somewhere below…

" _And you need to ask him about the wedding_ _ **today**_ _, Hol. I wanna be able to talk about it tomorrow."_

"Love you, too," Holly breathed as she raked her eyes over his body, unable to help herself. He knew what a tease he was being, stripping down while she was still on the phone…

" _Are you having a stroke?"_

Then he turned his back to her while he adjusted the water temperature and Holly just hung up. She let the phone fall onto the carpet behind her, which got Michael's attention.

"What'd she want?" he asked, and turned to face her.

She wanted to answer, really, but her mind wasn't coming up with the words. Her eyes were stuck on him and she had to catch her breath.

He seemed to realize how he was affecting her, as a grin came over him, and he took a step in her direction. Holly instantly stepped toward him, too, and a few more steps — planning to stop at some point but not quite managing it. She threw her arms around his neck and jumped up for a kiss.

Michael fell back a step at her enthusiasm, but he kissed her back, arms inching around her waist. Holly's eyes squeezed shut, her hands pressing his head down to hers — his hands sneaked down into the back of her shorts, and her heart skipped a beat. She sighed.

Then he slipped his tongue into her mouth, the first to do so — and this was usually her move, but the fact that he was naked and she was not seemed to give him an advantage, as she could barely think with his hands gripping her ass and his hips flush against hers. His tongue pulled a sound out of her, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper...

Michael's hand slipped lower, fingers curving under her ass and brushing over the soft skin there, just out of the way but so close. Holly's lungs filled in anticipation, and she deepened the kiss, indulgently using her tongue on him. Michael's shoulders caved, and a finger teased its way inside her…

Down below, his free hand gripped the edge of her shorts and tugged impatiently; he pulled out of her mouth just for a moment. "Take it off," he muttered, voice a little hoarse as he repeated himself. "Take 'em off."

But Holly had different plans, and she took this opportunity to push him back — to back him up step by step until he set foot in the shower, and then further, eyes locked on his as she inched him back against the wall of the shower. The water fell hard on her, wetting her clothes already, but she welcomed it.

Her lips landed on his in a clumsy, open-mouthed kiss, body pinning him against the wall of the shower. Her hands slid down from his chest, feeling the water on his skin as she kissed him, _hard._ Michael just groaned, growing harder against her. She bit down on his lip to keep from moaning…

Again, he struggled to tug her shorts down, but Holly made it hard for him — _that's what she said_ — as she ground her hips to his, nothing but a soaked pair of shorts and underwear breaking the friction. Michael's mouth fell open at the feeling; Holly took this moment to drop down to his neck and leave kisses there. He moved against her as her mouth worked down his neck…

The atmosphere changed, though, when she brushed her fingers down over him. His chest filled with air and his hands gripped her hips firmly and he pushed off the wall, turning her to the side — and he backed her up toward the spray of water and back further until she was on the wall, and her heart jumped up into her throat. She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off with a kiss which completely blanked her mind.

Not only did he kiss her, quite forcefully, but he took back control of the situation and pulled at the bottom of her soaked tank top, reeling it upward. Holly's knees felt weak as he released her lips just long enough to pull the shirt over her head. He let it fall down on the shower floor — and when she met his eyes, shivers covered her skin.

He parted his lips to kiss her, but not on the lips; he dove down to her neck, and Holly instantly let her head fall back against the wall. He knew this would disable her, and the lower his lips went, the less she could hear her own thoughts. She ground her body to his, her breaths growing quicker as his hands settled on her breasts, playing his thumbs over her — he just kept kissing down, down to her chest and into her cleavage…

"Michael," she breathed, not sure if it was a plea or a recognition or if it was the only thought she could come up with as his lips tortuously passed by her breasts and ventured lower. Her heart rammed in her chest, and she swallowed hard, feeling his wet, hungry mouth ghosting over her bellybutton, and then…

Then he gripped at her shorts with one lingering kiss, and she bit her lip as she looked down at the top of his head, waiting. He tugged at her waistband, slowly pulling the garment off her hips and down, _down_ as he did away with the second to last thing between her body and his. Holly's head dropped back anxiously, groaning under her breath as he just took his time…

Her heart skipped a beat when his fingers hooked under the hem of her underwear, and peeled it off her — and she couldn't hold back a whine as he drew the garment all the way down to her ankles…

" _Michael_ ," she huffed with a dry throat, squirming against the shower wall.

He instantly pressed his lips down right where he'd left off, and Holly let out a moan. She felt delirious in the steam and the water as his hands held her hips down and his lips, his _lips_ …

And the phone rang.

They didn't hear it at first, and Holly swallowed hard, her fingers buried in his hair — and when she did hear the ringing, she pretended not to. She didn't want him to stop — she wasn't in a state for him to just _stop_ …

Then he heard it, and he pulled back. Her knees instantly went weak from the loss and she pushed herself up against the wall. He looked up at her, face flushed and eyes dark.

There was a moment of mutual silence, in which Holly could only hear the pounding in her own ears, the shower water raining down on them, and the subtle ringing out of the shower. Her fiance was down on his knees in front of her, naked and soaked, and that image was almost too powerful for her.

He simply waited for her to tell him what she wanted. Holly's legs trembled.

"Don't stop," she finally got out, sounding as desperate as she felt in this moment. He just looked at her for a moment, and it filled her with hungry impatience. " _Michael_ -"

His mouth returned to its place without another second, and she watched the water trails falling down his back for as long as she could before her eyes fell shut and her mind completely blanked...

* * *

 _ **That's the closest a good Christian girl could get to writing smut. Not as bad as I remembered.**_


	57. Truth Hurts and Lies Heal

**Chapter LVII**

 **Truth Hurts and Lies Heal**

* * *

 _They don't love you like I will;_

 _My only wish is I die real,_

' _Cause that truth hurts and those lies heal,_

 _And you can't sleep thinking that he lies still._

\- "Take Care" by Drake ft. Rihanna.

* * *

Today was a glorious day, which would live infamously — Sunday, July 10th, 2011… evening, about sixish, in Boulder, Colorado… on Ellsworth Place, with some… number he hadn't memorized yet. At Holly's parents' house, today was a glorious day.

" _Hakuna. Matata. Hakuna. Matata…"_

Annie had invited them over for dinner this weekend, so they could catch up, talk about apartment plans, and basically convince Holly's mom that she was still going to be involved in their lives. Holly had briefed him on this before they'd left: he was not to gloat about their new, private life together; he was not to pick on her mom too much, because Annie would act tough, but she'd probably secretly take it to heart; and he was to, if at all possible, keep the conversation out of the kitchen — because that's where the drinks were. And Annie tended to drink when she wanted to bury her emotions.

But none of this was the reason _why_ today was going to be glorious.

" _Hakuna! Matata! Hakuna! Matata!"_

Today, for the first time ever, officially, Michael Scott was going to be a _guest_ in the Flax household. He no longer lived there, and no longer owed Holly's parents anything — until they eventually paid for the wedding, of course, but that was a while off — so he didn't have to try to prove himself. Or he didn't have to try as much.

It was also glorious because the week of underwear Holly had packed in the suitcase was now all in the wash, and although she hadn't mentioned it yet, he was ninety-nine-percent certain she wasn't wearing any. And that was fun knowledge to have.

"It _means_ no wor-ries — for the rest of your daysss…"

Michael looked up from her seat at the sound of the little growl in her voice, as she sang along to the music. He'd been watching her lower back as she bounced back and forth to the song, investigating the no-underwear theory — and if she asked, he would deny it — but the real show was up above.

"It's our problem-free…" Holly sang, eyebrows raised and head bobbing. "Philosophy… _Hakuna Matata_ …"

He made sure not to laugh as he slyly watched her dance to the song, eyes on the road — the goofy expressions on her face as she mimicked Simba's voice. Then her shoulders got into it, too, and Michael instinctively followed the rhythm…

"Bow, bow, da-bow," Michael sang quietly, imitating the trumpet. "Bow, bow ba-dow…"

"How- _ooooo_!" Holly howled, and he couldn't help but laugh at that. Then she seemed to remember he was there, peeking over at him bashfully. He smiled at her; she raised an eyebrow. "Hakuna _Matata_ …"

Michael quickly summoned all the rasp in his voice: "Ha- _ **ku-na**_ _Ma-ta-ta_!"

That got a big laugh out of Holly, throwing her head back, which made him laugh with her. Meanwhile, the car, which had already slowed to a crawl as they made their way down her parents' street, grew even slower. Eventually her laughter died down, as did the end of the song. That's when they reached the house, and turned into the driveway.

Holly reached to turn the music off, then, and he knew the moment was over.

"Okay," she said, exhaling. "So a few things before we go in…"

Michael unbuckled and looked over at her face, which was now in slightly-serious mode. "Okie-doke," he said with a grin. "Let's hurry, though. From my understanding, we're having steak."

Holly's eyebrows shot up. "She told you that?"

"I have a nose for these things," he informed her, but shook his head. "Anyway! Continue."

"All right," she began. She pointed at her purse, down by his feet, and he bent down to retrieve it for her. "So Mom's got a little baby fever, and I just want you to know beforehand that I haven't given her _any_ impression that we're discussing kids. She's reached a lot of conclusions all on her own."

"No shitake, Sherlocky," Michael mumbled in a sing-song tone. This wasn't a first for her mother.

Holly smiled, and her voice softened. "Second thing is that my mom said on the phone yesterday that Dad's in between medications, so he might not feel well enough to come visit with us."

"Ooh-kay," Michael said, and had to catch his initial reaction — because that did not sound good. Last time Howard had been a little foggy in the head, he'd yelled at Holly and she'd been upset all night. Last time Howard was between _medications_ , he'd taken a swing at Michael after Holly had gone to bed.

"I know," Holly said, frowning. "I'll probably still go up to see him, but I don't want him to feel pressured to come socialize."

And he had to curb this initial reaction, because this side of her father was something Michael and Annie had both struggled to keep secret.

"If you think he's up to it, then maybe, for a few minutes," he said with a nod — a very nervous, _very disagreeing_ nod. "Yeah, that stinks. Man."

Holly was quiet for a moment, although eventually, she did inch toward a grin. "And the _third_ thing, I'm just gonna tell you, so you quit trying to find out, yourself — yes, I'm wearing underwear."

His eyes widened, and he looked down at her lap instinctively, and then back up right away. "Oh," he said, trying not to sound disappointed. "I wasn't- I didn't even think about it."

"I'm wearing _your_ underwear," she added innocently.

And somehow, she'd made the situation _way_ hotter than he'd imagined it.

" _My_ …" he began, his mouth gone a bit dry. He swallowed. "My? Underwear? Why mine?"

Holly shrugged at him, and popped her door open. "Mine were all dirty."

And with that, she stepped out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind her with a thud. Michael felt that thud all the way down to his stomach.

This was more than glorious.

" _Hakuna Matata_ ," he mumbled, smiling, and he opened his door. "What a wonderful phrase…"

The door swung shut behind him and he hurried around the car, trying to catch up to Holly halfway down the driveway. He grinned when he saw her, in her jeans and her "Hug Dealer" t-shirt and her purse swinging on her shoulder as she practically skipped down the path to the stairs. Sunday Holly was the best Holly. She was so happy.

He loved to see her _happy_.

"Hakuna Matata," Holly sang, swinging her arms out as he came up behind her. "Ain't no passing _crrraze…_ "

And Michael dove in after her and threw his arms around her, which made her laugh. "It means no worries!" he sang as he swayed her left to right with each step — and she reached back to hug his waist. "For the rest of your day-y-yisss…"

Holly chuckled as she started to sing the next line, but they both stopped, singing and walking, at the sound of the front door opening. They looked up the stairs quickly, not moving from this position.

From behind the door, Annie stepped out. And as soon as she laid eyes on the two of them, wrapped in a weird hug-from-behind situation and singing Disney songs, her expression fell into something between disappointment and a lack of surprise.

Holly's giggles died down at that, but her smile remained fixed. "Hi, Mom," she said calmly. Behind her, Michael squeezed her even tighter.

"Hakuna Matata?" Annie asked, sounding very unimpressed. "Really?"

Michael glanced at Holly's expression, then at Annie. "It means no worries, _Annie_."

Annie's eyes widened.

Then Holly burst into laughter, and doubled over in Michael's embrace — and he fell forward with her, which sent them off their balance and stumbling forward a few feet — but he caught the railing before they tumbled into the stairs for a surely terrible fate. Then Holly laughed even more, and Michael laughed at her laughing…

"All right," Annie said quietly, drawing Holly's attention back up to the top of the stairs. "Your father's upstairs reading if you wanna see him for a minute. He's pretty lucid, just exhausted from the day."

Just like that, the woman had wiped the smile right off Holly's face. Michael resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her.

"Okay," Holly replied, nodding. She reached around her back for Michael's hand, and he accepted happily. He followed her up the stairs, where Annie held the screen door open for them.

Holly stepped into the house first, her feet slowing as she looked around the living room. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You…" she began, and looked back at Michael, and then at the room again. "You completely changed the decorations already."

Annie nodded, hands on her hips as she examined the room. "To something familiar," she admitted. "To help your father, you know, with the adjustments. This was what it looked like for a while, so I thought it might be comforting."

Again with the sadness — Michael instantly tried to derail that conversation. "That's a good idea," he interjected. "It's like- like when I was a kid and we had to take my dog to the vet, because he had worms, and we had to keep him in a kennel. And he was scared, so we put his old bed and toys in there with him… because they smelled like him. Well, mainly they just smelled like pee, but that was — basically that was how he smelled. Not to compare-" Michael cut himself off, clearing his throat.

It probably wasn't a good idea to equate Holly's father to an smelly worm-infested beagle.

Then Holly broke the silence in a small voice, toward her mother. "How's he been doing?"

"Good," Annie said right away, with a sort-of-smile. "He's been asking about you, but I've been telling him exactly how far away you are and showing him pictures of the apartment. We even drove past you guys on Thursday, and he recognized the building, so…"

Holly swallowed at that and looked at Michael, who instantly got rid of the sad expression on his face. "Does he have a bearing on me and Michael yet?"

Annie took a deep breath. "He remembers Michael — he just gets confused on how old you are and who you're living with. Why… don't you go up and see him?" she asked suddenly, gesturing back at the hallway. "He's having a good day. I think it might help him."

This sobered Holly, who met eyes with her mother for a prolonged moment — and although nothing was said, Michael felt quite out of the loop. He instinctively took Holly's hand, which drew her attention to him. She looked to him as though he were supposed to say or do something, but he had no idea what…

"I'll stay down here," Michael mumbled, squeezing her hand. "You know, help your mom out with dinner."

Holly nodded in silent agreement, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Be down in a minute," she said — and shot him a little grin to show that she was okay. That was comforting, at least.

So she stepped past her mom and down to the hallway, and Michael and Annie both watched her go. She was biting her lip as she took the first steps — and Annie opened her mouth, probably about to tell Holly not to bite her lips, but she restrained herself. It seemed she wasn't _actively_ trying to make this worse.

Michael was a little miffed with her, but he wouldn't say it and start a fight.

The door opened upstairs, leaving Michael alone with Annie. He turned to her and cordially began, "I think the redecoration-"

"I need to talk to you," Annie cut him off, pointing a finger at him. Instantly she started walking toward the kitchen, and that pointed finger gestured for him to follow.

"O-kay," Michael said slowly, uncertainly walking behind her and turning into the kitchen — which was also set with different placemats and salt and pepper shakers. "Is something wrong?"

"Hand me those pot-holders," she said over her shoulder as she opened the oven.

Confused, Michael obeyed, walking the pot-holders over to her. She took them from him and swiftly removed a pan of what looked like glazed brussels sprouts. He made a little noise of distaste as he returned to the counter.

"Shut up."

His eyebrows shot up at the sudden harshness. "Sorry," he shot back, annoyed. He hopped up on a barstool. "Who peed in your Frosted Flakes?"

"No one," Annie said in that same sharp tone, and she turned back to face him. She jerked out the silverware drawer and muttered, "I'm under a lot of stress right now, and do you want to know why?"

Michael shrugged, rubbing his eyes. "Because that's who you are as a person?"

"Because-" she started — and her finger went up angrily at him, and her shoulders were tensed up as high as he'd ever seen them — and he recoiled, a bit frightened. She looked at him for a long moment.

Then her shoulders dropped, and her finger dropped, and she huffed a breath. Michael eyed her nervously.

"Are you… drunk or something?"

"No, but that would help!" Annie announced, throwing her hand up. She looked up at the ceiling, as if Holly or Howard would overhear from upstairs — and she sighed. "We've gotta tell her."

Michael wrinkled his forehead at her, glancing up with her. "Holly? Tell her wh…"

It didn't take him that long to figure it out.

"About Howard?" he clarified, furrowing his brow. When she didn't respond, Michael's eyes widened and his voice lowered. "Annie…"

"She wants-" she started to say, but huffed a breath, sounding exasperated — cut herself off, as though she were keeping something from him. She looked down nervously. "She's been talking to me about things… and plans. And I just don't think I can keep this from her anymore."

"You should've told her a long time ago!" Michael shot back — he, too, very unsettled by the idea. "You should've told her before she came _down here_!"

"I realize that!" Annie snapped. "I was just going to wait until the wedding was over, so she wouldn't wreck things for herself when she found out. If she rushed her wedding into something she didn't want, only for him to forget about it in a month, she'd be no better off."

"Okay?" he said in confusion. "I don't… so what changed? Why aren't you doing that?"

"She started talking!" she said, and shook her head as she began to pace. "About having kids, and how she wondered if they could meet their grandfather, _because he_ _seems to be doing so well._ "

Michael started to respond, but he had to take a second to think about that — to think about Holly _saying_ that to her Mom, because she really thought that could happen.

The silence was pointed at him, Annie waiting for him to respond, probably to agree with her or at least to sit idly by as she wrecked everything in one fell swoop.

And it seemed from the nervous look in her eyes that she already knew him well enough to know that the answer was _hell no_.

"You can't," Michael muttered, and looked up at the ceiling again. "She's finally happy, and you can't just- just _whoosh_ , swoop in and screw her life up again. You just can't do that."

"It's gonna hurt her either way," Annie argued, as if the issue was already decided. "I can't sit beside her and plan her life knowing that it's predicated on a lie. I'd be a _terrible_ mother."

"No offense, Annie, but you're already kinda being a bad mother," he shot back. "And so far, I've been a pretty bangin' fiance, so I'm telling you, _no_. She can't deal with this right now."

Annie furrowed her brow and whispered, "I am her _mother_ , whether you think I'm doing well or not. I know Holly, and I know she's strong, and she can get _through it_. But it's gonna be easier if we tell her now, so she can process. And so she'll be able to forgive us."

"Okay?" Michael said, looking at her incredulously. "She won't forgive herself, though — you know that. She'll guilt herself out of everything she wants - the wedding, and school, and kids — everything _we want_ together…"

"Don't be so damn selfish, Michael, " Annie replied sharply. "This is bigger than that."

"Oh, so _I'm_ being selfish?" His eyes were probably at maximum width. "You're gonna throw away her future because you had a crisis of conscience? After all that stuff you said to me when we first met?"

"Don't throw my words back at me."

"'Holly's too trusting — it gets her _hurt_ ,'" he mimicked in a female voice. "'So don't go breaking my baby's heart, like I never do, because I'm the _best mom ever_ -'"

"I didn't say it like that!" Annie cut him off.

He threw his hands up. "Doesn't matter! The point is, Holly's over the stuff with her ex and with her crappy job, and she's in a good place. She doesn't need this."

"She's gonna find out eventually! Would you rather-"

A door opened upstairs, and footsteps moved along the floor above them, which instantly brought the conversation to a halt. Annie looked up at the ceiling nervously, and she gripped at the edge of the counter, as if she were gathering her nerve…

Michael leaned forward and muttered, "Don't tell her — don't you dare tell her!"

"You can't stop me," she mumbled without looking at him.

"I'll wrestle you to the ground, I swear to _god_! Don't tell her!"

She wrinkled her eyebrows. "You will not."

"She's happy," Michael insisted, over the squeak of the stairs as Holly descended from the second floor. "Look at me! She's _happy_. Don't ruin this."

"Michael, stop it!" Annie snapped. "I've already decided."

"At least give me time to prepare," came flooding out of his mouth, in spite of his own resistance — because if Annie was gonna wreck Holly's life, Michael was damned well gonna be on Holly's side. "Give me until Friday to… to read about it, or something. Then I'll _help_ you tell her."

"Screw you, Michael!" she said, raising her voice to a level which Holly could _definitely_ hear as she approached. "Game of Thrones is on top and it's staying on top. Doesn't matter what you say."

Michael blinked at her, completely lost, until he heard Holly's footsteps in the doorway behind him. He spun around to face her.

"Fighting already?" Holly asked seriously, though she smiled.

Michael looked at Annie, and their eyes locked in mutual panic.

"Not really-"

"Nope," Annie said, shaking her head quickly. Then they both turned back to Holly with pained expressions on their faces. "I love you."

"I love you more," Michael argued, but looked mainly at Holly. "And in a better way."

He could feel Annie's scornful eyes on him.

Visibly confused and a bit startled, Holly did eventually chuckle. "I… love you guys, too."

And that was what she said, but when she walked into the room, she sat down beside Michael — so that felt like a bit of a checkmate to him.

* * *

 _ **Sorry for the wait - internet's been shitting out on me. Enjoy, let me know what you thought, if you're out there. Cya.**_


	58. Did You Sail Across the Sun?

**Chapter LVIII**

 **Did You Sail Across the Sun?**

* * *

 _Tell me; did you sail across the sun?_

 _Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights are faded…_

 _And that heaven is overrated?_

\- "Drops of Jupiter" by Train.

* * *

Monday came, and Holly was officially set for her first "real" day at work — having been given the tour of the floor, a laminated pass for the elevator, and even a schedule of her first mandatory meetings this week, which were plentiful. This was definitely a shift from her previous job, at which she'd been asked to steer clear of _all_ business and basically waste her own time until her hours were clocked. She couldn't tell if she was excited or scared.

It felt like excitement to her.

The only thing that had made her nervous, probably, was this secret she would be keeping. In order to appear as if they'd come separately, Michael had dropped her off just down the block, where they would take turns "walking" to work. At least the weather was nice outside, the cold having melted into a temperate seventy-six degrees.

Just thinking about it gave her great relief that she was no longer under her parents' roof. They probably hadn't touched the thermostat in years.

Speaking of the devil, Holly had spent most of her morning texting her mother — as dorky as that sounded. She didn't want to annoy her, but Pinterest was being friendly and Holly was drowning in wedding plans and dress ideas. And to be fair, Mom had been nagging her about talking more often. This was exactly what she had requested.

This probably wasn't the best way to spend the first hours of her work day, but here she was, at 1:16 P.M., not caring.

She was hungry, though — and perhaps this was the only thing that would tear her away from the computer.

So Holly took this opportunity to leave her desk, for the first time today, and her office altogether. She'd been putting it off for over an hour, mainly because she didn't know anyone yet and she was a little nervous to just jump into the lunch conversation. And a few people were just hanging out there, even after everyone else had gone. They _had_ to have left by now.

As she rounded the corner to the break room, Holly pulled her phone out of her pocket and took a peek, eager to see if Michael had sent her anything. Since they couldn't interact face-to-face at work, they had decided to text each other whenever they got bored during the day. Friday alone, they'd discussed a variety of topics so distant from anything work-related that Holly had almost forgotten where she was.

Maybe it wasn't the most productive thing in the world, but workdays were long and Michael was a few walls away, just ready with a bunch of stupid pick-up lines and _horrible_ puns…

Except, today, he hadn't sent her anything. That was strange, for any day of the week. In fact, Mondays were his _least_ productive day of the week.

"There she is…"

Holly looked up at this greeting, whether it was directed at her or not. She found Michael's friends, Heather and Ginny, watching her in the doorway — both still sitting there after at least an hour of chatting.

"Hi," Holly said awkwardly, glancing between the two.

"Come eat with us!"

"Hi," Ginny replied under Heather's voice, and waved without releasing her phone.

Holly just blinked in surprise. She wasn't sure to make of them yet. "Okay," she decided, stepping into the room. She could feel their eyes on her as she crossed over to the refrigerator, and pretended not to hear their stares as she opened the door and peeked inside.

It was a bit troubling when Holly bent down to look for her food and Heather hummed, "Mhm."

Her eyes widened. She grabbed her salad and straightened up.

When she turned back around, Heather patted a place at the table beside her, across from Ginny. Holly hesitantly pulled out a chair, and smiled, nervously. "I thought everyone had eaten by now," she admitted as she sat down. "I was just gonna eat at my desk."

"Nah," Heather protested, and took a long, finishing sip of her water bottle — tilting her head all the way back. Then she swallowed, and crushed the bottle, tossing it down on the table. "Ayy! Bottle me, Ginny!"

"Just a minute," Ginny replied as she appeared to be texting someone.

"'Kay," Heather said with a shrug. Then she turned back to Holly and continued, "No, you're never gonna find a decent lunchtime when I'm not here. This is literally my only place to socialize now that I can't bug Zach in the lobby. I live here from twelve to two, unless I have meetings. Which I _don't_ today!" Then she pointed to Ginny dramatically.

"Holla," Ginny said under her breath.

"Holla is right. _Bottle_ me, Ginny."

"Hold on," she mumbled, eyes narrowing on the screen. "Lex can't figure out a laundry machine."

Heather waved a hand at her dismissively, and again, turned back to Holly. "Ignore her. She's bitchy because she hasn't gotten laid in _ever_."

"The machine provides the water!" Ginny said, not even listening to this. "Does she set fires inside the oven?"

"Plus, we weren't gonna let you eat alone," Heather added to Holly, who was a little lost in this exchange. She grinned at her. "We've been so eager to get to know you — get inside your head, get a good look at your ass…"

Holly would have choked if she'd even taken a bite of her salad yet. "My ass?" she asked, eyebrows raised high.

"Oh, it's famous," Heather informed her. And she gestured toward the hallway. " _Someone_ likes to talk about it in his downtime. But to be fair, he talks about you in a _lot_ of ways — so it's not really objectification. Unless you're into that. You don't look like you're into that."

This woman talked really fast, and Holly was a bit too shy for this.

She cleared her throat and busied herself with opening her salad. "Um, no, I'm not," she admitted with a slight laugh. "I guess that means you guys are… _completely_ aware of the situation, then?"

Mouth full, Heather nodded quickly. "Oh, yeah. I mean, not that he chose us to confide in, or anything. He'd just already talked about you to us before you even applied. But we're cool; we'll help divert attention."

"Definitely," Ginny added, finally looking up from her phone. She didn't really smile when Holly met her eyes, but she seemed engaged in the conversation now. "It's kinda fascinating, though, meeting you for the first time. You seem too… quiet for Michael."

Heather's eyebrows shot up, and she turned swiftly toward Ginny with her whole body. "That's interesting, Ginny. Tell me more."

Ginny smirked. "I talk more than _her_."

"Yeah, but you know what you don't do?" Heather said — and she pushed a dollar across the table to her. "Bottle me."

Begrudgingly, Ginny took her dollar and sighed as she stood from the table.

"Yeah," Holly said, with a big breath. "I'm usually more talkative, but I guess I'm a little nervous — being at this new place, in a weird position…"

"Yeah," Heather echoed. "We'll fix that."

Holly blinked, but smiled slightly.

A water bottle tumbled out of the drink machine behind them, and Ginny brought it over to the table. "Enjoy," she said, handing the bottle to Heather.

Heather shook her head and opened the bottle. "Not about enjoyment. Gotta hydrate."

"Sports?" Holly guessed, but Heather was already an inch into the water bottle, bottoms-up. She looked to Ginny, who eventually explained.

"We're going out for drinks tonight. She's hydrating so she can drink more and puke less," she said. Finally, Heather came up for air.

"Yes!" Heather said, panting. "Ginny is single and bitter, so me and her roommate are taking her out to find a hot guy-slash-gal. And she will _comply_."

Ginny made an expression of distaste when Heather wasn't looking, and Holly chuckled. Ginny didn't laugh back — not even at Heather's confused double-take — but she did crack a smile.

Heather shrugged. "She's against barhopping overall."

At that, Ginny was already up straight. "You don't find love in a bar!"

"You could, but that's not the point," Heather insisted. "This is just sex. It's good for the soul. It's like watering a plant."

"I don't want 'just sex,'" Ginny grumbled. "I don't even wanna date. I'm too busy."

Heather just scoffed.

But Holly did understand where she was coming from, though she was hesitant to add anything to the conversation. These two were obviously close already, and Holly was just an idea to them right now — and she wasn't good at this kind of talk. It was why she never made good friends at work. She felt too awkward.

"I know that feeling," Holly said anyway — just dove right into the topic without invitation, feeling so weird but just trying, because Michael liked them and he was a good judge of character sometimes.

Ginny looked up at her, and she seemed interested, maybe.

"I mean," Holly started, lowering her voice, and pushed her salad around mindlessly. "That's how I felt for a while before Michael and I met. And then I met him by accident, at _work_ , so… Maybe you're just at that place where you need something different."

This softened Ginny's expression, who had for the whole conversation appeared mildly irritated. She shrugged. "Maybe I am, _Heather_."

"Well, _I'm_ not," Heather tossed in, and slumped over the table. "I have a kid. I have stress. I need to be de-stressed."

Holly took a bite of her salad and added, "Yoga helps."

"Any exercise, really," Ginny agreed.

"I gym every day, bitches," Heather shot back, though it didn't sound like it was supposed to be a derogatory term. And without lifting her head, she pointed at Holly. "Look at her. She's having sex, and she has a healthy glow. See?"

Holly froze, dropping her plastic fork down into her salad dressing.

How much was Michael _telling_ them?

"She's eating a salad, too," Ginny offered, taking a bit of the heat out of Holly's cheeks. Holly shoved another bite in her mouth.

"I eat salads," Heather grumbled into the table. Then she turned her head toward Holly, and her tone changed. "What's sex like? I've forgotten."

Holly blushed deeply, and sat up a bit straighter. "I don't… Um…"

"What's sex with _him_ like?" Ginny asked curiously — and this was surprising, coming from her. She cleared her throat. "That's… weird to ask, isn't it? Never mind."

"Mind!" Heather threw in as she shot up to rejoin the conversation. "What's he like in bed? Is he a freak? It's Michael so it's gotta be weird stuff."

"I bet he likes to cuddle," Ginny mumbled to Heather, whose eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, I _bet_ he does. Does he ever bottom?"

"Probably makes jokes in bed."

"Is he selfish?" Heather asked Holly, now fully engaged. "Lazy? Eager? Does he _worship_ you?"

"I don't feel comfortable talking about this at work," Holly admitted, and finally put a stop to the questions. The two hyper expressions died down silently, both realizing that they'd made a mistake.

"Sure," Heather said, shrugging as she opened her water bottle. "Sorry."

"Sorry," Ginny added softly and reached for her phone.

The room grew silent then, and Holly suddenly felt guilty for shutting them down like that. She just wasn't one to talk about personal things at work — and _definitely_ not of a sexual nature. Most of the time, she was surrounded by men, and being asked sexual questions was irritating and uncomfortable. And this was not to mention the fact that her relationship was taboo at the office, and here they were, asking questions about it!

But then, being a stickler for the rules had never made her friends before. And really, what could it hurt to answer a few questions?

"He does make jokes in bed," Holly replied after a moment. Heather and Ginny both looked up at her again. "And he does like to cuddle, probably even more than I do."

"I hate cuddling post-sex," Heather shot back, though she seemed entertained by this information. "It's like keeping the fork in your mouth after you finished eating."

Ginny, too, was all ears. "Little spoon or big spoon?"

Holly thought about this, and answered, "It's sixty-forty, but usually he's the little spoon."

"Ooh," Heather said, eyebrows raised. Then she lowered her chin. "Can I ask one more question and then we'll change the subject? It's the money question."

Holly blinked at her, an anxious smile creeping onto her face, and she chuckled. "Okay..."

Ginny shook her head at Holly, but it was too late; Heather lowered her voice to a whisper.

"How big is it?"

Ginny instantly slapped her hands over her ears and sang, "La-la-la-la-la- _la-la-la_!"

"I can't answer that!" Holly said, and she couldn't help but laugh at Ginny's reaction and at the embarrassment of the question. "It's unprofessional. He's your coworker."

"Ballpark it for me," Heather asked simply, as if this were nothing. Then she held up her index fingers, a little ways apart from each other, and began to slowly drag them apart.

When Ginny saw this behind her, her eyes widened, and then she squeezed them shut and sang louder, " _La-la-la-la-_ _ **la-la-la-la**_ _-_ "

Holly couldn't believe what she was about to do, but she did it anyway — she waited until Heather had reached a fair estimation, and she bit her lip, and she nodded. And Heather, with a shocked expression, leaned in.

"Really?" Heather whispered, eyebrows fired up to her hairline. She tossed her head back. " _Michael Scott,_ come outta your office!"

" _ **La-la-la-la-la**_ …"

"Okay, I should probably go now," Holly said with skin so pink that she felt as if she had a fever. She closed her salad and rose from the table, grinning. "I'll see you guys later."

"You're gonna be fun to have around," Heather remarked, still doubled over in laughter at her new knowledge. She looked up at Holly to add between giggles, "Come out with us tonight! It'll be great; we'll loosen you up a little."

Holly didn't know if she needed to be any looser. "I don't know…"

"You should come," Ginny interrupted, finally removing her hands from her ears. "I'm scared."

A door opened down the hall, which was likely Michael responding to Heather's scream — and Holly looked between the hall and Heather, and Ginny, who appeared to be genuinely desperate. Holly fought back her smile.

"Okay," she decided, nervously.

"Great!" Heather announced, and then shouted to the right, " _Michael_!"

" _I'm coming!"_

Holly then bit down hard on her tongue and turned to flee the scene of the crime.

How were these two supposed to help divert attention?

* * *

 _ **Coolcoolcool. Thanks for the reviews - always make my day :)**_


	59. I'm Gonna Steer Clear

**Chapter LIX**

 **I'm Gonna Steer Clear**

* * *

 _I'm gonna steer clear…_

 _I'd burn up in your atmosphere._

 _I'm gonna steer clear, 'cause I'd_

 _Die if I saw you — die if I didn't see you there…_

\- "In Your Atmosphere" by John Mayer.

* * *

After nine internet articles, two botched PowerPoint attempts, six cups of coffee, and just one angst-ridden level of Diner Dash, Michael was still at a complete loss. He was probably more stressed now than he had been at the beginning of the day.

And none of this slaving was over work.

Yesterday, Annie had issued him the threat of telling Holly the truth about her dad — nay, not a threat, but a _promise_. Come Friday, Holly's mother was going to effectively crush Holly's heart into a billion tiny pieces, and Michael was probably going down with the ship. The only condition she'd allowed him was that he could have the next few days to prepare Holly for this news, if that was even possible.

It was only Monday, so he'd decided he had plenty of time to figure it out. Today, all he had to do was research, research, research: dementia and its symptoms, how it affects family members, how to cope with a family member's dementia, and so forth. A few hours on Google and he would have plenty of ideas on how to make this process the easiest it could be for Holly.

Of course, it wasn't that simple.

Apparently, dementia was kind of the suckiest thing ever, and he'd reached that conclusion only after _clinical reading._ Then he'd taken a conscious risk and opened up some coping-grieving-stuff websites, and read the accounts of people whose parents and husbands and wives had dementia, and…

Now he was just sitting at his desk, his hands covering his face, and taking deep, anxious breaths.

Dementia was dumb, and he hadn't thought about it enough until now to realize how _horrible_ this was going to be. Holly was going to cry, and probably not just once, or twice. People online were talking about months of grieving, just after _finding out_ about their parents' condition — and some people got depressed, which he'd also researched on the forums. And that was just _stupid_ , because now all he could think about was Holly getting depressed and not talking or joking anymore, and him not being able to do a single thing about it, and it was all just so _terrible_ …

She was supposed to be the stable one. He was mood-swinging all over the place just thinking about it.

To make matters worse, the clock read _4:56 P.M.,_ which meant it was almost time to go home and be with her. He'd successfully kept out of her way this long, and to face her while feeling like this — he'd just hug her and not be able to let go and blow the whole thing because she'd know he was upset.

And if he was right, Heather would be bursting into his office any second now.

So he closed out his last half-assed "Holly-I-Love-You-And-Your-Dad-Is-Doing-Shitty" PowerPoint project — not even saving the three slides he'd already made, which had consisted of these points:

I love you lots!

Your dad's memory is worse than you think. Like, seriously bad.

But you don't have to be sad because _

That was where he'd gotten lost, because, according to the internet, there were literally no reasons not to be sad about it. Life was an endless, swirling vortex of pain and they were all just along for the ride until even their minds failed them, and _damn it, damn it, damn it…_

"No, Michael," he muttered to himself, and shoved his mouse in as the computer began to shut down. He leaned over his desk with a sigh, running his hands through his hair. "No cry."

This whole thing just brought Michael face-to-face with his humanity in all the worst ways, and whenever that happened, he was basically useless. He'd gotten no work done today — Ginny was off somewhere, so there was no one cracking the whip on him. He didn't even have Holly texting him that they had to stop joking around and get back to work. It was a perfect storm.

A door was thrown open across the hall, and Michael jolted upright, knowing the sound like a warning siren. He tried to see himself in the reflection of his monitor, to make sure he didn't look as stressed as he felt — but he didn't catch a proper glimpse before his office door opened, and in burst Heather.

"It's quitting time, Scott!" Heather announced loudly as she thundered into the room, her purse already on her shoulder. She took one look at him and raised her eyebrows, adding seductively, "Or should I say, Pablo Penis?"

It didn't help that for some reason, Heather had fixated on his genitals today.

"Someone's grumps," Heather then remarked, having looked at him more closely. Her hands dropping on the desk, she leaned forward and asked, "Are you mad because I'm joking about your penis? I'll be honest — it's respectable. I've seen much better, and I've seen much worse."

"Thanks," Michael mumbled, not even going to _ask_ why she thought she had seen his penis. "And I'm not grumps, okay? I'm under a lot of stress."

Heather didn't appear to like the tone, and shoved off the desk. "Well, keep your negativity away from all of us. We're about to head out for drinks, and we're gonna have a _good time_. Take a bath or something relaxing."

"All of you?" Michael echoed, looking up. "Who's going?"

"Me, Gin, her roommate, and Holly," Heather said with a shrug. And then she lowered her voice, and her head, to add, "And it's a girls' night, so you're not invited. But we'll have her back by an unreasonable time, I promise."

Michael's eyebrows shot up, surprised. "Oh. Okay. Holly doesn't… usually do the bar thing. Are you sure?"

"Oh, I'm sure," she said, nodding her head exaggeratedly. "We're gonna show her how Boulder does drinking — and _men_." Then when she saw his eyes widen, she waved a hand at him. "Not men. Don't worry."

He was a little worried — because although Holly being drunk would buy him more time to put together his plan to talk to her, he was privy to the reason Holly didn't drink to excess. She'd revealed to him when they first dated that when she got drunk, she became _violently_ sick — like, puke-all-night-and-sleep-off-the sun-tomorrow sick. Either she'd be a wreck tonight, or she'd be the one driving everyone home.

"I guess have fun, then," Michael decided, not sure of what else to say.

Heather chuckled, messing with her hair absentmindedly. "We will." Her eyes did meet his for a moment, and then, her tune changed; she turned back toward the desk. "But you, on the other hand, look like you're headed for your execution. What'sa mattah?"

"Anything you need before I take off?" came from behind Heather — and there, standing at the door, was Ginny. She'd left her purse in his office this morning, and she now returned for it. She also deftly avoided Heather's spanking hand before it reached her butt.

" _Yeah_ ," Michael complained, crossing his arms. "I need someone to talk to — someone who _isn't_ about to go get drunk with Holly." He sent Heather an angry look, but she didn't seem to care at all.

But bending over her purse to look for her keys, Ginny did interrupt their glare-off; "I'm not drinking tonight, Michael."

He looked over at her, and found she looked at him with a kind of genuine interest. Even if she was already getting ready to leave, she did make the offer.

And he didn't want to be _that guy_ who burdened everyone with his personal problems, but he wasn't in the position to turn down offers.

"Sit," Michael said quietly, gesturing toward her usual chair. He motioned Heather off. "You get outta here. You're a liability."

"A'thank ya," Heather replied with a tip of her imaginary hat, before turning to leave the room. She swung the door shut dramatically, shouting, " _H.R.! Report for duty!"_

Michael waited for her footsteps to fade down the hall before he met Ginny's eyes — which appeared mildly concerned as she looked him over, having altogether abandoned the search for her keys in the depths of her purse.

"What's wrong?" she asked, blinking at him. "You look really upset."

"Well, I _am_ ," he said, a bit of a squeak in his voice. "I am upset, because I have to deliver some terrible news to someone and I'm just really a nervous wreck because of that."

At this, Ginny's face fell slightly, seeming even more concerned. "Oh, god…"

"It's just awful," Michael admitted under his breath.

"Are you firing me?"

"I don't- what?" he asked, stopping himself mid-sentence. He hadn't realized that he was conveying that. "No. No, I'm not firing you. You're doing a great job here."

Her expression lifted a bit at that. "Oh. Thank you."

Michael nodded, and looked down at the pen in his hand, beginning to obsessively click it against the desk. "No, I've gotta… It's Holly. I've gotta give her some sucky news."

"They're firing _her_?" Ginny asked, now sounding irritated. "She just started."

"Okay, no one is getting _fired_ , here, Ginny!" Michael cut her off mid-rant with his hands up in surrender. "I just have to tell Holly that her dad's dementia is progressing."

Then he really focused hard on the pen, even as he could hear her eyes widen, because eye contact was his enemy right now. He didn't want to see the worry and the pity Ginny was about to spew everywhere. He was already swimming in worry and pity.

"Oh," Ginny breathed finally. Her head lowered in his peripheral vision. "That's… bad. How did you find out? Like, did a doctor tell you?"

"No, a doctor did not tell me," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. He buried his forehead in his hands and lowered his voice further; "Actually, I've known for a few months now. But yeah, it's actually a lot worse than she knows, and her mom has been keeping it from her ever since the move."

"You knew for months?" she asked as soon as she could fit in a word. Michael looked up to find not pity, but confusion and slight indignation on her face. "Why are you just _now_ telling her?"

Michael sighed and dropped his head again. "Because I was stupid, and I thought her mom was gonna do the right thing. But she didn't, except now she's going to, but now is a horrible time because Holly is _really_ not on the same page. So now I'm trying to prepare for this conversation before her mom blows everything to hell."

"And you never told her," Ginny remarked. "You spend every spare minute talking to her or about her, and this never started to bother you? You _are_ stupid."

"Thanks, Ginny, you're a peach," Michael grouched, pressing his fists into his eyes. "I just don't know what to do now. I've researched it and this is heavy stuff. I don't know if I'm the right person to be doing this."

"You probably aren't, but _Michael_ ," Ginny said scornfully, and leaned in to whisper, "she's going to be your _wife_. You have to start being honest with her. Don't be a coward."

"Okay, okay," he protested, holding a hand up. "I get your point. No need to bludgeon me with it."

"There's plenty need," she insisted. Then she looked over his face for a moment, and asked, "So what are you going to do?"

Michael pointed a finger at her to emphasize on that point right there. "That's the thing I don't know. I get nervous in these situations and I start spouting off horrible things — offensive, inappropriate, awkward things. It's gonna be a trainwreck…"

"Not if you have a plan," Ginny said, and the rationality in her voice made him think she was right. Straightening up in her seat, she adjusted her top and pushed her hair back as she added, "Just- pretend I'm Holly, and you're broaching the topic. What would you say?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, I'm not good at this game. I've tried it before."

" _Michael_."

"Okay," he relented right away at the shift in her tone. He cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking this through. "So we're… I think I'll do it maybe right after sex, so we're both rel-"

"Bad idea," Ginny stopped him right there, shaking her head.

Michael opened his mouth to continue but he hesitated. "Really?"

" _Yes._ "

"Okay," he said nervously, and bit on his knuckles. "Uh… So maybe late in the day tomorrow, so she doesn't have to go straight to work afterward. After dinner, so we're full and happy. I'll probably just… I'll clean off the table and I'll come back, and… sit down beside her." He then stood up and sat down again, just to mimic the action. "And uh, I'll, uh, I'll take her hand."

Ginny offered her hand, and he reached out for it nervously. He tried to look her in the eye as he continued.

"So I… Okay. Holly, I love you. I'd start with that."

"'I love you, too.'"

"I- thank you," Michael said, nodding appreciatively. He chuckled in complete agony. "Gah, this is hard. I'll- I'd probably move her hair out of her face, but I don't need to show you that. And… Holly. I know that in order to have a happy relationship, you're supposed to be honest, and truthful, and forthcoming…"

"Don't stall."

"…to have a happy- I already said that. _Anyway_ ," he said, taking a breath. "We both have to be forthcoming in everything — even the stuff that we don't want… to be forthcoming for which. So is there anything, to start off, that you haven't been really honest with me about, maybe?"

"Don't turn it on her!" Ginny protested and retracted her hand. "You did something awful, Michael. You can't make this better by trying to guilt her."

"Well, all you're doing is criticizing me!" Michael shot back.

"Because you're doing really badly!"

Michael started to snap back, but they both jumped out of their skin when three banging knocks hit the door. " _Hey, c'mon!"_

Ginny grimaced at the sound, looking regretfully down at her bag. "I gotta go perform the mating calls," she grumbled, sounding hardly enamored with the idea. She stood all at once.

"Ginny, hey, _Ginny_!" he hissed and reached out to stop her. She jolted in surprise.

" _What?_ "

"Don't tell her," Michael said, expression faltering. "I'll get there, I promise — cross my heart and hope to die. But she doesn't need to hear it from you."

"I know," Ginny muttered. As she turned back to the door, she added pointedly, "She needs to hear it from _you_."

"She will!" he insisted. Then when she turned to go again, he added, "Also- okay, just try to make sure she's comfortable, tonight. When she's uncomfortable, she drinks, a _lot_ and-"

The door swung open and Heather appeared, sunglasses already on her face. " _Who's_ ready to get wasted?" she sang quite loudly for a work environment.

Behind her, he spotted Holly. His throat went dry.

She looked lovely today, not exactly dressed to go out drinking but seeming excited — or one-part excited, two-parts terrified. This was the usual reaction Heather and Ginny incited when put together, and with the way they'd been twin-velociraptor hunting her, Holly ought to be scared.

But she smiled at him.

And it felt terrible.

"Feel better, Dick Tracy!" Heather called as Ginny exited past her. She reached for the door handle, smiling. "Willie Mayes. _Anthony Weiner_ — oh, my god, I've got so many!"

Michael was exhausted at this point, and shrugged his shoulders. "Is it National Penis Day or something? What did I do to bring this on?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, _you_ didn't do anything."

Michael didn't understand this vague expression.

And then he saw Holly's face turn a little pink, until she ducked out of the doorway and out of sight.

* * *

 _ **I didn't remember this particular chapter, but I know exactly what I was channeling with it. Also I completely forgot how drunk Holly's about to get...**_

 _ **Thanks so much for the reviews :)**_


	60. So Hey, Let's Be Friends

**Chapter LX**

 **So Hey, Let's Be Friends**

* * *

 _Ain't it funny? Rumors fly,_

 _And I know you've heard about me_

 _So hey,_

 _Let's be friends._

\- "Blank Space" by Taylor Swift.

* * *

If there was one place in the world where Holly had never felt comfortable, it was a sports bar.

She didn't know what she had envisioned when Heather had invited her out for drinks, but she hadn't expected a loud, rowdy, buffalo-wings-peddling establishment screaming of pop music and margaritas all around. All the way from outside, Holly could hear people laughing, chairs squeaking, and basically, a nightmare waiting to eat her alive.

Holly wasn't good with the party environment. She was shy and awkward and introverted and as much as she liked people, she was not very good at talking to them. Small talk at work was one thing — hanging out with one slightly-younger and two significantly-younger women while they hit on men was an _entirely different thing_.

Heather had stopped at home to check on her son and his babysitter, and Ginny had detoured to pick up her roommate from their apartment. Holly might have been the first one there, if she hadn't had to deal with Michael's driving situation. They'd come to work in one car, so Holly had had to call her mom and arrange for her to pick Michael up from work. Then she'd gotten slightly lost on the way to the place, and by the time she'd found it, the girls had caught up with her.

In fact, as Holly stepped out of the car, she spotted Heather heading up to the building. She swung her door shut, which caught Heather's attention — and her eyes lit up.

"Hey!"

Holly smiled and waved. "Hi."

"I think they're already inside!" Heather exclaimed over the noise that occurred when she opened the front door. She motioned for Holly to come up to the door, and Holly hastened over to her.

When she reached the front of the building, Heather had stepped inside and now held the door open for her. Holly stepped through, eyebrows raised at all the people waiting inside. She looked over at Heather.

"It's pretty busy!" Holly remarked over the music.

Heather hardly looked at her, stretched all the way up to see over to the tables. "Just how I like it," she said, smiling already. Then she threw her hand up and let out a loud cat call.

Holly's eyes widened as heads turned toward them; she followed Heather's gaze over to a quite tall, quite boldly-dressed young woman, who instantly noticed them. " _There they are!_ " she shouted, cutting through the noise effortlessly and beaming already. Beside her stood Ginny, who didn't look half as excited but still tried a smile on.

"Thank god she came," Heather said at a regular volume as she dropped her hand, and looked at Holly. When Holly made no move, a little flustered by this all, Heather simply grabbed her wrist and led her out of the waiting area, toward the tables.

Heather was quite confident as she marched past the bar, while Holly trailed behind nervously and tried to keep a smile on her face. She was beginning to relate to Ginny here — she had no idea how to behave in this environment. She didn't have a very loud voice. She had a feeling anything she said would go unnoticed.

The girl, who Holly assumed was Lex, saw Heather coming and instantly burst into conversation. "We were getting worried about you!" Lex announced as she met them in the middle — and Holly stopped abruptly behind Heather. "What took you so long?"

"Traffic was a bitch!" Heather answered simply, grimacing. "You guys got here fast, though. Did you have to break _both_ of her legs?"

They all turned to see Ginny, who was now checking her phone at their booth — blatantly avoiding the conversation.

"Nope!" Lex said proudly, grinning. "Just had to hide her toothbrush. But she brought it to that, so- hi! I didn't see you!"

Holly almost jumped at the sudden recognition, and nodded. "Hi," she said, but found this was too quiet and raised her voice; "I'm Holly!"

"She works with us," Heather supplied — and she stepped back so Holly could come closer. "Holly, this is Lex, Ginny's way-funner roommate."

"She boasts!" Lex said humbly, but smiled as if she knew it was true. "That's cool that you guys work together! What do you do?"

"Human Resources," Holly answered. "I actually just started Friday, so I'm pretty new there."

"Seriously?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "Everywhere I've worked, H.R. has been a bunch of dicks! You don't look like a dick!"

Holly was surprised, but chuckled. "Thank you."

"No, you look super sweet," Lex said with a grin. "C'mon, let's sit down! I'm _starving_."

Heather looked over at the table and added loudly, "And _obviously Ginny isn't coming to us!_ "

Ginny just scratched her cheek with her middle finger and said nothing.

"Damn," Heather said, glancing sideways at Lex as they stepped toward the table. "She's worse than this morning. What'd you do to her?"

Holly came up on Heather's side and looked over at Lex, who replied, "She got her results back for mid-semester exams. She failed Bio-Chem again."

"Ew," Heather said, grimacing. "Why's she doing so many classes?"

Lex shrugged. "Overachiever."

Then they reached the table, and Lex scooted in beside Ginny — Heather offered Holly the inside of the booth, and she gladly accepted. Ginny didn't seem happy to see them at all.

"Gin, square up," Heather protested, and snapped her fingers to get the girl's attention. "I don't care if you have a failed education — you're getting laid tonight. Do you hear me?"

"My future is a joke," Ginny replied simply and returned to her phone.

"No, baby girl," Lex interrupted, holding her hands up. " _My_ future is a joke. Guess how many classes I dropped last semester?"

Heather leaned on her elbows. "Do I actually get to guess?"

"Three," Ginny answered, just to spoil the fun.

Lex didn't skip a beat. " _Three!_ And I failed another one!"

"I didn't even go to college," Heather said with a shrug. "And look at me. I'm at my _dream job_." Her voice was loaded with sarcasm.

Holly glanced between Heather and Lex, who were obviously not comforting Ginny in the slightest. She set her hands down on the table, drawing some attention her way. "You really just have to manage a passing grade in Chemistry for most majors," she said, mainly to Ginny. "What are you pursuing?"

Ginny shrugged. "Unemployment."

Lex rolled her eyes, setting a hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Her major is Mechanical Engineering, which is hard as hell, but she's kicking ass and taking names anyway."

"In every area except Chemistry," Heather said. "Which isn't important anyway. I don't remember even a _little bit_ of Chemistry."

"College is the worst," Ginny lamented, ignoring both of them. Her head dropped into her hands. "I'm just switching my major to something easier. I don't need to be an engineer. I can be a lawyer. Lawyers get lots of money."

Holly shook her head at that. "Don't change your major to something you don't want. You'll either wind up in a job you hate forever, or you'll have to take four _more_ years of college later on."

"That's what I keep telling her!" Lex agreed, looking at Holly in exasperation. "I mean, I may not be doing the best in my classes, but at least I _know_ I'm pursuing what I want. Whether it takes me four years, five years, six years, whatever — I'm _gonna be_ a nutritionist."

"Exactly," Holly said with a nod. "I mean, I didn't stick to what I wanted, and now I want to go back to school again. But it's so hard to find time in your life to actually _do that_."

Heather raised her eyebrows at that, and asked, "What do you wanna do instead?"

Holly inhaled, not sure if she wanted Heather to tell Michael she'd been talking about this, but smiled sheepishly. "I wanna be an elementary school teacher."

At that, Lex literally smacked Ginny's arm, jaw dropped. "Holy shit, that's adorable!" she shouted. "Teaching little kids! Oh my god, I wish I had the patience for that. Kids are adorable!"

"Oh, yeah?" Heather asked. "Wanna watch mine this weekend? He's adorable."

Lex raised an eyebrow at Heather. "Anything you raised? Nah, bish, rather not."

Holly's eyes widened.

"I'm kidding!" she said right away, bursting into a grin, and giggled at herself. She looked at Holly again and added, "No, but seriously, teaching sounds awesome. You should do it, like, right now. Go. Do it."

"She _just_ got a job," Heather reminded Lex, who waved it off.

"If she wants to teach, she should teach!" Ginny insisted with huge gestures. "Go forth! Teach!"

Holly was tickled by her enthusiasm, but kindly shook her head. "I would, but it's not really possible right now — I mean financially. With the wedding coming up, we're just really saving every penny to get a good venue…"

Lex smacked Ginny again, and this time, Ginny jolted and hit her back. "Stop hitting me!"

"You're getting _married_?" Lex asked even more loudly than she had before. "That's so exciting! _When?_ "

"Good question," Holly said with a chuckle. She shook her head. "We don't know yet. We've been too busy with the move to plan anything-"

"Shit!" Lex grabbed Holly's right hand out of nowhere, holding it up for all to see. "Look at that ring! Holy-"

"Wh- Christ," Heather said, as soon as she saw it. She snatched Holly's hand away, turning it around to examine it. "That is a _monster_ fucking ring. _Michael_."

"How many carats is that?"

"Hi, ladies!" a waiter interrupted behind Holly's hand, having just arrived at the table. "Welcome to-"

"Look at this _giant_ -ass ring!" Heather cut him off and pulled Holly's hand even farther down the table, so that she nearly fell over. Holly instantly retracted her hand, feeling quite self-conscious now. She smiled awkwardly at the waiter.

"That…" the man said, shaking his head, "is a lovely ring. Congratulations."

Holly wrinkled her forehead, but nodded. "Thank you."

" _Eugene_ ," Lex said out of nowhere, eyes locked on the man's nametag — and her voice had a strange new tone to it — much lower now. "That's such a tough-man name. Do you go by that with your friends?"

The waiter chuckled. "Well, my sisters call me Gene, but I'm not tied to anything in particular."

Lex's eyebrows shot up, and she tapped the table. "I'm calling you Genie. Is it okay if I call you that?"

Holly blinked over at Ginny, who looked mortified and completely done with the situation already. Then she looked at Heather, whose lips were pursed in focus.

"Sure," Eugene said, laughing in surprise. "For a good tip, you could call me whatever you want."

She could hardly believe the man was flirting back that quickly, but it was happening, right before their very eyes.

"All right," Lex said, grinning devilishly — and she glanced down at his shirt briefly before adding in a lower tone, "So what do I have to rub to get three wishes out of you?"

Ginny choked, seemingly on air, as soon as the words were said; and Holly, too, was floored at this sudden escalation. Lex didn't even look back at them, maintaining perfect eye contact with Eugene, whose mouth was left open at this comment. Heather muttered an obscenity.

Eugene just laughed again, grin widening in both interest and what looked like a little embarrassment. "I will get back to you on that," he said finally, and turned to the rest of the table. He cleared his throat. "What can I get you ladies to drink tonight?"

Lex straightened up in her seat and replied, "One martini, dry as you can."

"Martini, dry," Eugene reported back, and looked to Ginny next. "For you?"

Ginny looked up at him regretfully and mumbled, "Coke."

He raised his eyebrows, chuckling. "You've got that irritated designated-driver look pretty early, there."

To this, Ginny had no response. Then the waiter turned his attention on Holly.

"Um," Holly started, caught off-guard without time to really think about it. She didn't know what she wanted, to be honest. She wasn't one for mixed drinks — wine was her best friend, and it treated her best . "I'm not sure, actually."

"She'll have a Manhattan," Heather spoke up — and when Holly looked over, her eyes widened at the sight of Heather's shirt pulled down to reveal a _lot_ more cleavage. She didn't return the waiter's smile, but leaned back casually. "Heineken for me."

Poor Eugene was overwhelmed by Heather's sudden tits, on top of Lex's pick-up lines, and just nodded. "All right. I'll be back with those in a minute." Looking over the table, he added with a nervous grin, "You guys hungry? Interested in any appetizers?"

"Maybe," Heather shot back, and gave him the eyes that she'd given Holly's ass when they'd first met — a look of intense study, as if to prepare for an attack. Holly felt pure fear for the man.

Eugene just laughed at that for a moment. Then he turned, and fled to the kitchen as calmly as it appeared he could manage.

Once he was gone, Heather instantly jabbed a finger at Lex. "You didn't even wait until he got our _drinks,_ cheater."

"Oh, _I'm_ cheating?" Lex asked, clearly amused. "You're already on your breast behavior."

"Fine," Heather muttered, leaning on her elbow. "You just keep on with your lucky wordplay and your doe-eyes. _Game on_."

Holly was completely lost in this exchange as she looked between the two, until Lex caught her eyes and realized how this appeared to an outsider. She chuckled. "She has no idea."

Holly turned to Ginny, who was already groaning.

"The two of them have this obnoxious game," Ginny informed Holly, "where they competitively flirt with the waiter until one of them wins by getting him to pay for their drinks."

" _Or_ by getting him into the sack!" Heather interjected, vital information to the game. And she looked at Lex to add, "And you guys can place bets right now, because by the end of the night, the money I _would have_ spent on drinks will be given to my babysitter, who will take Harsha to her place _for the night._ "

"No, you won't," Lex shot back, holding a hand up and dropping it to the table in front of Heather. "Bonus round is outlawed tonight."

Heather furrowed her brow. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is, and you know why."

Holly blinked at Heather, who was suddenly silent and sent many threatening expressions Lex's way.

"Why not?" Ginny asked — and all heads turned to her the second she chose to speak a thing. "Besides the fact that it's gross and the odds of you two having anything in common are slim to none."

"No reason," Heather said.

"Because there are _strings_ attached to this one," Lex said, with a goofy smile. "Because she's in love!"

"Shut your ass."

"Open yours up — to love!"

"With who?" Ginny interrupted, abruptly. Holly remained silent during this time.

" _Zach the receptionist,_ " Lex recited in a sing-song tone, and poked Heather's hands on the table. "Her forbidden love, with whom she can no longer _speak_. It's a modern _Romeo and Juliet_ , except Juliet keeps hooking up with guys to avoid it and Romeo is kind of a douche, but in a way that _turns Juliet all the way on._ "

"You're both incorrect and about to get the shit kicked out of you," Heather shot back.

"Aw, she's blushing," she said with a grin, putting a hand over her heart. "It's okay, babe. I've been there, and I support you."

"I hate you and your face."

"I need to call someone real quick," Ginny said out of the blue, interrupting this dizzying back-and-forth. They both looked at her, and their expressions dropped instantly, as if the fun was now over.

"Don't abandon us already!"

"We haven't even found you a hot person yet," Lex reminded her. "And they were gonna be really hot — at least an eight. And you're a perfect ten, so you'd have 'em easily."

"It's just a phone call," Ginny protested dryly. "And it's serious, so if you could let me out, that'd be great."

The table went silent at that, and Lex, Heather, and Holly looked at each other curiously. No one spoke.

Eventually, Lex conceded and scooted out of the booth, releasing Ginny from their company. She whispered something in Ginny's ear before letting her go, though, and so quietly that it was uninterpretable. After that, Ginny hastened to the front of the building, already looking at her phone.

Lex then dropped back into her seat with a huff. "Well," she said, tone unusually non-perky. "I guess she's gonna make it impossible for us to give her a good time."

"Whatever," Heather said flippantly, and gestured toward Holly. "We can just focus on getting this one drunk so she'll tell us _all of Michael's secrets_."

Holly inhaled sharply, eyes widening. "Oh, no, I'm- I'm not getting drunk. I don't do very well with… I don't drink much."

Heather grinned. "Perfect."

"Heather," Lex warned.

Heather shrugged, expression innocent. "What?"

Lex gave her a pointed look, and mouthed something. Then she smiled at Holly.

Holly had never felt more terrified in her life.

* * *

 _ **I kinda ship Heather/Lex, looking back on this. Idk. Enjoy, leave reviews, etc.**_


	61. You Lose Yourself in Pieces

**Chapter LXI**

 **You Lose Yourself in Pieces**

* * *

 _Bit by bit, you slip away._

 _You lose yourself in pieces — in the things that you don't say_

 _And you're not here…_

 _But you're still there._

\- "How You Learn to Live Alone" by Nashville Cast.

* * *

Holly wasn't _quite_ sure how they'd gotten here, but it all started with Ginny's departure.

"You are _not_ gonna do that!"

"Am, too," Heather said with a chuckle — and she reached for the longest french fry in the basket, a devilish grin on her face. "Watch — here he comes…"

At first, they'd intended to wait for Ginny to get back, before eating or drinking or anything, so they'd ordered a few appetizers of various sizes and levels of saltiness. That led them to need more drinks, and Holly, who was still nursing her Manhattan at this point, respectfully declined.

" _Oh my god she's gonna do it_ ," Lex whispered in one long streak, gaping at both her and Holly. " _Heather_!"

"You're gonna scare him away," Holly protested, but she covered her mouth to hide her giggles. If she were sober-er, this would have mortified her. But now she was just entertained.

So she wasn't sober, to be sure. Heather had ordered another drink for her — a gin and tonic, which Holly had never tried before — and this flavor appealed to her a little more. That set the wheels in motion.

"Everybody doing okay over here?"

They all three looked up at the waiter, ridiculous smiles on their faces as they tried to keep their cool. Then Holly and Lex turned to Heather, who was unnaturally calm.

"What if I said," Heather began, eyes narrowed at him as she held up the single, long french fry, "that I'd pay you twenty dollars to eat this fry?"

Holly shook her head in warning at the waiter — it wasn't even Eugene the Genie anymore — he'd left for the evening — probably because of Heather. This poor man was younger, and cuter, and had no idea what he was signing up to do.

"I…" he began, blinking. Eventually, he chuckled. "Okay. Is this like a magic trick or something?"

Heather's eyebrows rose instantly, and she looked at the fry. "In a way," she admitted in a low, _low_ tone. She pushed the edges of her jacket back and straightened her back…

Holly had to cover her face, blushing from head to toe as she knew what was coming next. She could hear Lex cracking up across the table.

"Abracadabra," Heather said coolly, and audibly shifted in her seat. "Twenty bucks, right here. Retrieve the fry."

"I don't know if I can-"

"I'll put in twenty!" Lex cut him off, drumming her hands on the table. "That makes _forty_ bucks. Holly?"

Holly dared to uncover her burning face, and shook her head. "I want no part in this," she said with a wide, embarrassed grin.

"Wuss!" Heather cried, and turned back to the waiter. She gestured toward the fry lodged in her cleavage, which was enough of a sight to make Holly hide her face again. "I'll make it fifty."

"We are _paying you_ to do this!"

The waiter didn't leave or shut her down, seeming conflicted. "Nah, you guys, I really can't do-"

" _Heather!_ "

That was Ginny's voice, sharp and piercing the noise of the sports bar — Holly's head shot up. Over the waiter's shoulder, Ginny could be seen charging at the table, a scornful expression on her face.

"Take that fry out of your shirt," Ginny snapped as she reached the table — and before Heather could comply or argue, she snatched the fry away and tossed it onto an empty plate on the table. "Remind me never to leave you guys alone again — excuse me!" she muttered, pushing past the waiter who had overstayed his welcome.

"Sorry," he said, eyes wide. "Can… I get you something to drink?"

"Were you actually gonna do that?" Ginny asked in shock as she dropped into the booth, beside Lex. "Eat the french fry off her body?"

The waiter hesitated to answer, but opened his mouth — and Ginny didn't let him get that far. "Just go."

In lieu of her order, the waiter nodded his head and mumbled, "I'm very sorry." And he turned and walked away.

At this, the three of them were initially silent, watching Ginny in surprise as she settled into the booth.

But then Lex whispered, " _Ooooh_ …" And then Heather joined in this chorus, and Holly couldn't resist being a third…

"People are looking at us," Ginny snapped in a hushed tone. She wrinkled her eyebrows at Heather, staring incredulously across the table. "I left for a few minutes and you're already putting _food_ in your body?"

"Duh," Heather said at a much higher decibel. "That's what eating is. Have you tried it?"

Holly and Lex both giggled at this, and Lex even gave Ginny a playful shove — which did not go over well with Ginny, who stiffened up. "You guys have gotten through some drinks," she muttered.

"Well, you were gone forever!" Lex protested, and leaned on her elbow. She frowned at Ginny. "What's wrong? Why so down in the dumpsters?"

Holly giggled at the phrase, and she wasn't sure why.

"I'm not- get off me," Ginny grumbled, picking Lex's hand up and dropping it on the table. "I'm not in the dumpsters. I'm just stressed out."

"Aw," Holly said quietly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she insisted — and when she looked at Holly, her expression fell in disappointment. "You, too, Holly? I thought you were better than this."

"Hey, hey, hey — she's soberer than the rest of us," Lex pointed out in Holly's defense, and she reached across the table for Holly's hand. She squeezed it strongly, with no explanation, before turning back to Ginny. "So tell us what's wrong."

"You know what's wrong," Ginny mumbled, reaching for a fry.

Then Heather snatched the fry out of her hand, shouting, " _Ha_! How does it feel?"

Lex's chin lowered at this statement, and she asked quietly, "Is it Wally?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Ginny said, resting her forehead in her hands. "Just leave me alone."

Holly blinked between the two of them, confused. "Wait — who's Wally?"

"Yeah, who's Wally?" Heather echoed.

"Ooh- _wah_ -lee," Holly quoted out of instinct in her robot voice.

Heather turned to her instantly, a straight expression on her face. Their eyes locked, in a way that worried Holly. Heather blinked, and replied, " _Eee_ -vah."

This was unexpected and sent Holly into a fit of giggles, covering her mouth as she backed herself further into the corner of the booth. Heather started laughing, too, and plopped her elbows on the table.

"Hey, listen, you guys," Lex interrupted their laughter, waving her hands out. "In all seriousness, you guys. _Walt_ is Ginny's brother, who is also an alcoholic and a _huge_ dick about it."

"Why would you tell them that?"

"And we hate him," Lex added affirmatively.

"We don't hate him," Ginny protested again, and her face turned pink at this topic. "He's my brother. And I said I don't want to talk about it, please and _thank_ you."

This sobered the table from its previous _Wall-E_ glee, and instead left Heather and Holly looking at each other uncomfortably, and a bit guiltily. Lex, on the other hand, seemed not to realize what kind of private information she'd divulged — while Ginny slumped in her seat beside her, staring down at the table.

The silence went unbroken for a long time… until Heather had a thought.

"Is _he_ the one who gave you the black eye?" Heather asked.

"She doesn't have a black eye."

"I _know_ , Lex, thank you. She had one a while ago — she came into work and it was all puffy and she wouldn't tell _anyone_ where it came from-"

"Yes," Ginny cut her off in exasperation. "Okay? It wasn't that big of a deal. So let's just drop it, or you three can just walk home."

Heather gasped. "And be _killed_?"

"In this neighborhood?" Ginny shot back, eyebrows raised. She turned her attention to the TV above their heads. "I'd be so lucky."

Lex was apparently amused by this response and snapped her fingers. "She shaded you."

"Shade!" Heather agreed. "I have been shaded. I never knew how that felt until now."

"How does it feel?"

" _Shady_ …"

While they carried on, Holly was sobered — figuratively, not literally — by Ginny's admission, which Heather and Lex seemed to have failed to notice. Holly hadn't had any idea about Ginny's brother. And Michael had told her the black eye was probably a mugging incident, so she hadn't thought much about that, either.

"We should all just- _beat him up,_ " Heather decided, shrugging as if this were a natural decision. "Let's go beat him up, because he was a jerk and jerks get beat up."

"But we could get arrested. I can't get another strike on my record."

"What else have you done?"

"… I shoplifted a dog once."

Heather didn't have a strong reaction to this, narrowing her eyes quietly. "Was it a puppy?"

"Oh, my _god_ ," Ginny complained, her eyes squeezed shut. "Just stop it! I don't want to _talk_ about him, or stealing puppies, or any of this. Can we just go home?"

"My ex used to drink," Holly said in the midst of all this chatter, in a soft voice. And she expected it to go unheard, or at least unregistered, which was what gave her the courage to say it.

But it didn't. It went completely heard.

"A lot?" Lex asked, the first to speak after this. "Like, alcoholic-a-lot?"

"Did he hit you?" Heather asked — and she pointed at Lex without looking away. "We could beat him up, too."

"Did he break things? Or just pass out all the time?"

"I dated a guy once who would drink and then date other women and forget about it. Did he do that?"

Holly now understood why Ginny was so angry at them, because being bombarded with their questions did _not_ feel good at all. She no longer had the courage to continue. She no longer wanted them to look at her.

She thought it might be easier since she'd told Michael, but damn, this was _not_ easier. She wanted to backtrack.

But Ginny was watching her.

And she was listening.

So Holly cleared her throat, and lowered her voice. "I don't know if he was an alcoholic," she admitted, nervously. "And he wasn't… physically, you know, abusive. But he would drink when he'd had a rough day — which was pretty often, and, uh…"

They were watching her with such intensity, and the more they watched, and the longer they waited, the further her throat seemed to close up. Suddenly, she felt stupid for talking about this; Ginny's position was obviously worse, and A.J. hadn't really been _that_ bad to her, and no one wanted to hear about it anyway.

Except Ginny seemed to want to hear about it, as her expression softened and her eyes were slightly widened on Holly, completely attentive, completely interested.

So Holly cleared her throat again, now against a massive lump in her throat — and her voice still came out a little scratchy. "He would yell — at me, and he would call me things. Names. And he would throw food away when he thought I was gaining weight, sometimes."

"What an asshole," Heather muttered to herself, brow furrowed in a strange kind of empathy which Holly hadn't expected. She didn't say any more, as if she expected Holly to continue.

"But when he was sober," Holly said, trying to keep this relevant to Ginny. "The next day, usually after the hangover wore off — you know, he'd apologize. He'd tell me he loved me and that he didn't mean it, and he'd buy my favorite ice cream from the store — Strawberry Chocolate Cheesecake. And he'd tell me he wouldn't touch any of the food again."

"But he did?" Lex asked, completely focused and leaning on her hands to listen.

Holly made a kind of expression that was almost a smile if it weren't so quick and sharp. "I don't think I ever finished a pint"

Lex instantly reached for her purse. "Let's go to the store. I'ma buy you some…"

"That's okay," Holly said quickly, and reached to stop her. "I don't- it's fine. I'm just saying that it's… it's not something to be _ashamed_ of. We've all had people in our lives who don't treat us right."

Ginny didn't say anything in response, now looking down at her hands. But Heather instantly jumped in.

"It's true," she said, both excitedly and bitterly. "My aunt used to watch me and my cousins sometimes. Whenever I made a mess or whined, she would lock me in the closet all night."

Holly's eyes widened, and she swallowed. Heather looked around the table blankly.

"Real bitch," Heather said, breaking the tension. Then she nodded to Lex. "Your turn. Beat that."

Lex shrugged. "I don't know… I don't know! Beat what how?"

"Give us a shitty story."

"I don't know. My family's nice," she said, brow furrowing. "Let's see, okay. So… Okay! So in high-school, my boyfriend pressured me to have sex once, and I wouldn't, so he told everybody that we did it — and then my mom found out from someone else's gossipy mom, and she didn't believe me, so I had to go to confessional every day for a month. Does that count?"

"I don't know," Heather admitted. "I forgot what we were talking about. But that's stupid. We could beat _him_ up."

"I think he moved to Georgia. To pursue music or something."

"I bet he has a Twitter. Let's bash his ass."

Ginny sat wordlessly on the edge of her booth, no longer listening to the two of them and simply staring off into a speck on the table. Holly bit her lip nervously — her people skills feeling severely impaired by the however-many drinks she'd had. She wanted to help her or encourage her in some way.

"It gets better," Holly added. Ginny looked up at her.

"Yeah?" she asked, voice blunt and disbelieving. "How?"

Holly tried to think of an answer, but she had to shake her head. "I don't know how."

To this, Ginny sighed and lowered her head again. Finally, Heather and Lex settled down, to the point where they noticed this lull in conversation and looked between the two.

"I do know," Holly said after a moment, "that I'm here now, and not there, with him. I'm different."

"What are we talking about?" Heather asked.

"I'm with Michael now," she continued despite the interruption. "And we're getting _married_. And just having him with me — having a best friend, and knowing that he's always, _always_ gonna be there for me and he's never gonna hurt me… It gets better. It just does."

Ginny's expression faltered at this, as though Holly had said something questionable; but she nodded eventually. "Thanks," she said softly.

Holly offered a smile and nothing more.

Meanwhile, Heather and Lex were both lost in this conversation and did not seem to care for it anymore — and Holly was beginning to wonder how many drinks they'd had, because Holly was definitely in a different state of tipsy than they were.

"So people are the worst," Heather concluded, just to sum up this conversation incorrectly. "But instead of feeling guilty, we can feel _drunk_. Shots!"

" _Shooooots_!" Lex echoed loudly, and banged on the table. Heather burst into laughter, falling back in her seat.

Holly didn't know if that was an actual order being placed, but after that conversation, she could definitely go for a few shots.

* * *

 _ **Hope you enjoyed :) Leave a review if you've got the time.**_


	62. The Reason I Hold On

**Chapter LXII**

 **The Reason I Hold On**

* * *

 _Ooh, the reason I hold on…_

 _Ooh, is I need this hole gone…_

 _Funny, you're the broken one,_

 _But I'm_ _the only one who needed saving._

\- "Stay" by Rihanna ft. Mikky Ekko.

* * *

" _Message three of five."_

A piercing beeping noise filled the car, and again, Michael reached to turn the sound down. He squinted at the road ahead, trying to read unlit signs in the dark at past-nine-o'clock, somewhere in a very complicated college campus…

" _ **-chael it's Heather again,**_ _hey! Your machine cut me off in a really rude- like rudely, so I wanna call you back and say hi. Hi!"_

" _Hi, Michael!"_ an unfamiliar voice rattled on in the background. " _I haven't seen you-"_

" _Lex, shh-"_

" _-butIknowhowbigyourpenisis-"_

" _Shhut it, shh,"_ Heather protested, and the phone shuffled loudly. " _ **Anyway**_ _, hi. We are still drinking — on our, I think what is it… there'salot of shots everywhere but I can count 'em up-"_

Behind Heather's mumbled counting, he could hear wild laughter that clearly, somehow, belonged to Holly. His eyes widened, and he turned up the sound to hear her better…

" _Looks like seven shots, so we're- definitely drunk. But we have_ _ **serious**_ _things to_ _**ask**_ _you. How do I put you on speapher-_ _ **speaker**_ _phone?"_

" _Press the button."_

" _What button, doofus?"_

" _The_ _ **button**_ _."_

" _Lex, that's just- you're not helping me… to understand what I'm… what are you saying? This one?"_

Dial tones went off loudly, and again, Michael turned the volume down. He grimaced at the loud background noise in the bar as Heather presumably set the phone on the table.

" _Okay, so… Michael? Hello?"_

" _You have to hit the button."_

" _ **Showmewhichbutton**_ _."_

" _I'm pointing to you, which one, which button it is."_

" _That turns it off — watch."_

" _Not the red-"_

The message ended, much briefer than her previous message had been. Michael didn't know how there were still two more messages, but he prayed to god that they were even shorter.

Tonight had not gone as expected.

In the full knowledge that Holly was not a drinker and would not be out late, Michael had decided to take a long, relaxing bath. He'd taken this bath in the privacy of his home, as a man who had no shame in taking baths. He'd taken this bath knowing that this would be his only chance to relax, by himself, and think through this issue with Holly and her mother.

He'd taken this bath with no intention of falling asleep — but alas.

He finally woke a mere fifteen minutes ago, to the sound of his phone ringing for the fifth time. It was Ginny, who had asked him in a slightly-panicked voice to come pick Holly up — because she just came back and they were all sloshed, but something about this wasn't her fault, and now the manager wanted them to leave but she couldn't get Heather and Lex out, and so forth.

Now, he had to find this bar — an address which Ginny had failed to give him — and pick up Holly before the violent stomach sickness hit her. And it would.

" _Message four of five."_

Michael was already tired of listening to these. He reached to turn off the car audio.

" _Hey, honey!"_

Then he heard Holly's voice, slightly slurred, and froze. He missed a yellow light because of this.

" _It's me!"_ Holly announced, sounding giggly. " _I miss you, and your cute face. Um, I'm here with Ginny, and Lex —_ _ **Lex Luthor.**_ " Her voice dropped two octaves as she growled, " _ **Our story hasn't been written yet, Kal-El.**_ _That's Superman. His real name is Kal-El — did you know that? Ginny knew that."_

Michael chuckled, in spite of his irritation at virtually everyone else right now.

" _And I think I'm drunk. Do I sound drunk to you? I_ _ **feel**_ _like I'm usual, but Heather keeps saying I'm drunk, and she acts very self-sured… Are you still there?"_

Easily thirty seconds of indistinguishable noise followed this question, until the message finally ended with a beep.

Then he spotted the sign for the sports bar, in the middle of a large shopping center, and jerked the car to a stop just before the turn. He received a bitter car horn-honking from behind, and he would have returned the favor, if the messages didn't continue.

" _Message five of five."_

The parking lot was surprisingly crowded for nine o'clock on a Monday, but he had heard about some big sporting event going on this evening — but it was something unusual, like soccer or maybe lacrosse. He couldn't imagine anyone being so interested in either of those.

" _-ney, Lex just told me- justthisgr_ _ **eat**_ _joke! Do you wanna hear it? It's really funny."_

" _Knock-knock!"_ presumably Lex interrupted, and Holly chuckled.

" _Knock-knock,"_ Holly echoed, and waited as if Michael's answering machine were going to ask who was there. " _Okay then you say, 'who's there?'"_ She said this in a robotic voice for an unknown reason.

" _Who's there?"_ came Heather's voice.

" _Interrupting cow!"_ Holly said, and then before anyone could reply, crowed, " _ **Mooooooo**_ _!"_

At least five different kinds of laughter burst through the sound system, and the phone dropped loudly — and Holly muttered, " _Oh, rats. Son of a rat…"_

The message ended there, and Michael was caught between amusement and worry — because Holly was obviously a bit more inebriated than Ginny had let on. As cute as drunk-Holly was, Michael didn't want her to be kneeling to the porcelain god all night. She'd have to miss a day tomorrow, and she'd just started this job, so it would _not_ look good…

He found a parking spot relatively close to the entrance; as soon as the wheels stopped rolling, he put the car in park and shut it off. It was still fairly early in the night, so if Holly got home now, she could get the puking out of the way and get to sleep at a reasonable time. Then with coffee, aspirin, and some of her mom's self-proclaimed "miracle-cream", the morning hangover could be minimal.

The establishment was loud enough that he could hear it from the car, and increasingly louder as he marched up to the front door. He'd been hoping that Ginny had gotten them to the front of the restaurant, but they were nowhere to be found — so he opened the door and peeked inside.

The place was crowded, with a line forming at the front podium. Michael waited until the hostess was done with her current customer before stepping up past the rest of the line.

"Hi," he said right away, and tried to make his business clear before someone accused him of cutting the line. "I'm here to pick up someone, so if I could just-"

"Sure," the hostess said with a smile, before turning back to the next person in line. Michael nodded his thanks and inched past the crowded walkway, into the restaurant.

One scan of the room was all it took to find their table.

Ginny stood angrily at the side of the booth, speaking to Heather — who, in this particular moment, was stuffing onion rings into her pockets and yawning. Across from her, a brunette shouted loudly in a high-pitched voice about the plot of a movie, gesturing wildly with her hands until she knocked over a basket of french fries. Across from _her_ , he spotted Holly — who giggled wildly, face pink, and began to clean up the fries one-by-one.

When he reached their vicinity, Ginny was the first to notice him, and her eyes widened in relief. "Michael, thanks for coming. I can't-"

"Michael!"

He quickly turned to Holly, who was beaming as she stretched up to see Michael. "Hey!" Michael said, equally enthusiastic. "I came to pick you up."

"I didn't know you were coming," Holly said, still grinning impossibly at him — and she looked to Lex, who muttered something. "This is my _fiance_. We're getting married really soon, and you're inv-" Then she gasped, and looked up at Michael. "You know what? _Lex_ should be my maid of _honor_!"

"I wanna be the maid of honor!" Heather protested instantly, and rolled over in the booth to look at her. "I'm better at partying… as you can see by my drinking skills. Lex is about to piss herself."

"Am not!" Lex insisted sharply — and she smacked her hand down on Holly's. "Make me maid of honor. I'm a tried-n-true maid of honor."

"Well, we probably shouldn't make any of those decisions right now," Michael interrupted, holding his hands out in suggestion. "Considering we're all _pretty_ drunk right now."

"I'm so happy you're here!" Holly exclaimed quite loudly, as if she'd forgotten the whole thing. She smiled up at him sweetly, and it tugged at his heart. "We'ven having _so_ much fun and been _talking_ about you but don't worry! I didn't say anything secret."

He chuckled nervously. "That's- I'm glad you had fun. But we should probably get going now. We've gotta go to work tomorrow, remember?"

"Ew," Lex remarked, and giggled. "Work is gross."

"She has a point," Heather added, and yawned. "I'm not goin' t'morrow…"

"Okay, I paid for everyone," Ginny announced as she returned to the table — and Michael hadn't even seen her slip away. She stepped around him to Heather, at the end of her booth, and grabbed Heather's shoulder. "I'm not waiting anymore. I wanna go home. Let's _go_."

"No," Heather whined, and slapped her hand away weakly. "I can't go yet."

"We've been here for hours!"

"I haven't wonthebet yet," she yelled, half-yawning. "I have to… get the waiter-guy."

" _I already paid for your drinks_."

"But I didn't _win_ ," Heather argued.

Michael had no idea what was going on here, but he had a feeling that he didn't want to ask. Instead, he turned his focus on Holly, who was busy making art out of torn up straw-wrappers. "Holly, hey," he said, drawing her attention back. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," she said with a big, long sigh, her shoulders sinking. "I feel dizzy."

"Heather, _stop_ -"

"I need to win!"

"Pull your shirt back down, damn it!"

Michael noticed a lot of skin appearing in his peripheral vision, so he politely held a hand up in front of his eyes to block them out. All he could then see, while he listened to Ginny's struggle with Heather, was Lex, who grinned at him.

"Hi, there," Michael greeted, distracting himself from this awkward scenario. He leaned over the table to extend a hand for shaking; Lex shook it sharply, giggling. "I'm Michael, Holly's fiance."

She let go of his hand and lowered her chin at him. "I heard things about you."

" _Lex_ , shhh!" Holly cut her off — and when Michael looked over at her, she blushed. "She's- don't listen to her. Let's go home."

"Stand _up_ or I'm _leaving you here."_

Heather tossed up both her middle fingers, but in giving this gesture, forgot to resist and allowed Ginny to drag her up to her feet. When she realized what had happened, Heather looked horribly offended — but also too tired to act on her outrage. She yawned and slumped back against the side of the booth.

Holly's advice was sound.

So Michael reached past Ginny and Heather, across the booth to take Holly's hand. He helped her out of the booth, feeling the overall warmth of her skin as he guided her to the edge of the seat. She then paused, and reached back to grab her purse — and then she fumbled to her feet.

"All right," Michael muttered to himself as he hooked an arm around her, careful not to let her succumb to the high heels beneath her. It didn't help that Heather had apparently been tossing her ice cubes onto the floor beside her, making the ground slippery. "Be careful, here we go- and we're turning…"

"Bye, guys!" Holly announced happily, waving with the hand that wasn't gripping Michael's bicep. "I'm going home now."

"No!" Lex whined, leaning over the table. "Don't go yet! We didn't try the nachos!"

"Next time," Michael assured her, and inched Holly backward…

"This wasso _fun_ though, y'guys," Holly insisted, pressing into Michael's side. "We should do this every night… until we're _eighty_."

"Where are your shoes?"

"My shoes? Are prizes for the contenders for my heart."

"For Christ's sake, Heather," Ginny mumbled — and as she turned to search the booth, she noticed Holly's waving hand. "Bye, Holly. Bye, Michael."

"Bye, Ginny," Michael echoed with a smile, though his eyes were not smiling at all. He guided Holly away from the table, but lingered back to mutter, "Thanks for getting her totally wasted. Do you even listen when I talk? Or are you too busy with your precious headphones and your India music?"

"It was a long night," Ginny grouched. "And for your information, no one was forcing her. She's just enjoying herself."

Michael knew she was enjoying herself. Her hand was cupping his ass right now.

So Michael held in the rest of his chastisement, saving it instead for work tomorrow, when Heather could also receive her due. He turned back to Holly, who was preoccupied with making some kind of hand gesture to Lex — and when he followed their stare to his rear end, he had an idea of what they were discussing. If she weren't so adorable when she gossiped about his body parts, it would have been annoying.

"Let's go home," he reminded her.

Her head whipped around to look at him, in a way that clearly made her dizzy as he eyes unfocused, her eyebrows raised. When she regained clarity, she replied, "That may be a good idea. I think I'm drunk."

Michael smiled and began walking her to the front. "I think you are, too."

"I think I am, too," Holly remarked — and then she pointed a finger at him. "Jinx. You owe me a soda."

He blinked, but chuckled. "One soda, on the tab. No, no," he said as she tried to turn the wrong way — toward the bar — and redirected her to the front door. "We're not getting the soda _tonight_ …"

"I actually don't want a soda," Holly said anyway, looking down at the floor in front of her. "I want one of those things Lex ordered for me, the pink drinks — pink think drinks, pink thinks, jinx, you owe me a pink drink thing…"

Michael had never heard so many words come out of her mouth, and he was tickled. "It sounds like you had a lot of fun with the girls."

"I did! We had lots of fun," Holly informed him, leaning her head on his shoulder — and she nearly walked right into the glass doors, but he pushed them open just in time. "We did lots of stuff. I tried new drinks, that I'd never tried before. Heather got _really_ drunk. Didn't you see that?"

"I did see," he said, nodding. He stopped before they reached the curb and stepped down ahead of her; he kept his hands on her arms the whole time, to make sure she didn't fall. "Careful for the- there ya go, good. You're doing great."

"So are you, with your ass."

Michael's eyes widened. He looked back at her, shocked.

She blushed, seeming to realize that the words had come out of her mouth — and she covered it with both hands. "Ruh-roh," she breathed, completely seriously. And her feet refused to move as she faced this embarrassment.

Michael didn't know what to do with this sight — his drunk fiancee accidentally complimenting his ass in public, then turning completely pink and scolding herself in her Scooby-Doo voice — except to burst into laughter. He just laughed.

Holly was confused at first, but she, too, smiled, and chuckled. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. I drank a lot."

He just kept laughing, though he finally regained enough composure to continue walking her through the parking lot. "It's okay," he said, grinning. "You don't have to be sorry. I'm happy you had a good time."

"I do have to be sorry," Holly insisted — and her expression quickly dissolved into guilt. "I actually have a confession. But don't be mad! Please don't be mad."

He furrowed his brow. "It's okay. I won't be mad."

"I was the one who told Heather and Ginny about your _thing_ ," Holly admitted, as if she thought this was new information, her face fallen sheepishly as she awaited her judgment. She looked down at her feet. "I told them how big it was. I was peer pressured."

Michael had already known this. The woman had been pink every instant that she was within five feet of him.

"Don't worry about that," he reassured her.

"And Heather really exaggerated it to Lex, and now Lex thinks you're a god."

This one was a curveball, but he took it in stride. "I… will take it."

Holly looked up at him, examining his face for a moment. "You're not mad? At all?"

"Nah," Michael said with a shrug. "I've had people talk about my penis on many different occasions — many only speculating, _completely_ inaccurately though, so…"

"I was nervous to tell you," she admitted as she dropped her head onto his shoulder in relief. "But Ginny kept telling me that the key to a good relationship is honesty, and that I should never be afraid to tell you secrets."

This was a bit of a jab at him, and Michael hesitated to respond to it. Without even being there with him, Ginny was judging him, through Holly. He cleared his throat. "Ginny's a smart girl, for someone who's never been in a relationship."

Holly didn't sense his sarcasm and nodded. "She is smart. And Lex agreed — she said this cute thing, she said, 'secret secrets are no fun, secrets secret hurts someone.' Isn't that funny?"

"That's funny," Michael agreed, clenching his jaw. It wasn't really any of Ginny's business if he told Holly the truth, in his humble opinion. And if Ginny had _really_ wanted him to be able to discuss it with Holly, as soon as possible, she wouldn't have left the three amigos alone to get drunk out of their _minds_ …

"I have another confession."

And of course, Holly was being sweet about this, which made him feel much, _much_ worse.

Michael looked over at her with a controlled expression, slowing his gait as they approached the car. "Okay," he said slowly. "Let's hear it."

Holly smiled at him, and reached down for his hands. "Okay," she said, and lowered her eyes to his chest. She fumbled with his hands as she prepared. "Okay. My confession is, I love you."

And she looked up, in expectation of a reaction. Michael blinked. "I… love you, too," he said with a confused smile.

"I love you, too," Holly echoed, seeming to gain courage. "And that's not just a thing like people say before their husband goes to work. It's a big deal, because I love you... big. I mean… let me start over…"

"I understand," Michael assured her, but she was insistent.

"When I was little, I loved the Smurfs," she blurted out, without much context. "And I never loved anything more than the Smurfs, but I love _you_ more than the Smurfs. And more than Looney Tunes, too."

This made him smile — because she really loved Looney Tunes.

"And I just love you so, so, so much," she went on, shaking her head. "I love you as a person and as a handsome person, and because you're funny — and I spent my whole life looking for you, but I didn't know it was you. I just thought it was Harrison Ford."

His eyebrows rose, and he reached around to loop his arms around her. "I outrank Harrison Ford?"

"Of course!" she enthused, in a way that she didn't often speak about him — in a way that no one spoke about him, because he was just _him_. "And it's stupid that I have had such a big love for you and we're still only fiance and fiancee. It's just stupid."

That's where he lost her, because she had been following one steady stream of thought until right there. He wrinkled his forehead. "Wait, what?"

"I wanna be a _Scott_ ," Holly said, very excitedly and also with a hint of frustration as she tugged at his shirt. "And meet your parents and your family, too — why haven't we done that? You've met mine."

Honestly, Michael hadn't really thought about it. He hadn't known that _she_ was thinking about it, either, with the apartment and her new job and everything being so busy. The last time they'd talked about the wedding at all, she'd barely given any input.

"And why do you want a beach wedding?" she asked, now just exasperated. "I mean, they're just so messy and windy. And the summer is so far. I want _way_ sooner than that."

Michael was now completely off-track, and shook his head. "I'm not set on a beach wedding… I just, I didn't know you were ready to talk about any of this. I had no idea."

Holly smiled at that, and tapped his chest. "Here's an idea: a not-seasonal wedding. Somewhere where it doesn't matter if it's warm or cold, like space or something." Then she gasped. " _Space._ We should get married in space!"

His mouth opened to respond, but he just laughed, so confused. "I… A non-seasonal wedding. That works for me."

"I mean, if it were up to just me, we'd go get married tonight," she admitted — and she smiled. "But I think we're a lil' too drunk to get married. We could get married tomorrow, though."

He chuckled, reining her in. "Oh, _we're_ too drunk? I didn't know I was drunk."

"You can't tell?" Holly asked, quite seriously. "You're all blurry and falling over. You're _wasted_."

"Am not."

"Are, too!"

"Am not."

"Am, too," she mumbled, and seemed to realize upon saying it that she'd made a mistake — but she didn't correct herself. She just rested her forehead on his chest silently, and yawned.

Michael held her a little closer, then, standing in the middle of the parking lot in a little bit of shock. All this information had come at him at once, within five minutes of her drunken rambling, after months of silence. He had to wonder how long she'd been keeping these feelings to herself, and _why_. Why did so much in their relationship go unspoken?

But he wasn't really one to talk about honesty.

"Let's go home now," Holly decided, interrupting his thoughts. She looked up at him with a slight frown. "My stomach hurts."

Michael looked into her eyes for a moment, hands curving around her sides protectively — and he nodded. "Let's go home."

* * *

 _ **I'm not sure if this made it into the final draft, but there's an explanation for why Michael's so edgy and irritable in this chapter, and it's mainly to do with his Jan trauma. He doesn't like being around drunk people, or taking care of them - he'll do it, but it's a trigger for him. Drunk people and candles.**_


	63. Fathers, Be Good to Your Daughters

**Chapter LXIII**

* * *

 **Fathers, Be Good to Your Daughters**

 _Fathers, be good to your daughters._

 _Daughters will love like you do._

 _Girls become lovers, who turn into mothers,_

 _So mothers, be good to your daughters, too._

\- "Daughters" by John Mayer.

* * *

At least the vomiting was over. That was what she had to keep telling herself.

So Holly was a planner, in every sense of the word and every situation to which it applied. She made plans, and she followed them, and sometimes she made word documents and color-coded them to have extra fun. Holly tried to never abandon the plans she made for herself. It was usually a good rule of thumb.

Last night, it would have been really awesome if she had just followed the plan.

But she'd felt impulsive and had a few drinks, followed by a few more new and different drinks, followed by shots, followed by chasers, followed by a few more things she couldn't remember — to the end of becoming completely and unforgivingly wasted. From this period, she had very few memories, and they were all embarrassing.

But the vomiting was worse than the embarrassment, by leagues.

Fortunately, Michael had been an angel all night, holding her hair back and keeping her hydrated, staying up to watch TV with her until she finally stopped puking long enough to pass out on the couch. He'd slept on the beanbag beside her, in case she needed him in the middle of the night. As soon as she stopped feeling gross, she was going to reward him for that.

She had to admit that she'd had a good time, before all the sickness and head-pounding, dizzying, delirious sobering process. Heather and Lex, and even Ginny, had been a riot of drinking company; she felt a little less nervous going into work today now that she knew them better.

She was still nervous, though, because she was pretty sure she was going to die.

" _This place is 'bout to blow-_ _ **oh**_ _, oh-oh-oh oh-oh…"_

"Honey," Holly stopped him, as gently as she could, brow scrunched up tightly. "My head."

"Sorry," he said, and through her eyelashes, she could see him nodding comfortably. He was trying to be sensitive to her hangover, which, again, was going to get him a great time in bed tomorrow. Maybe he knew that.

They were on their way to work this fine, bright morning, but they'd left a few minutes early to stop by her parents' house. Mom, who was not secretly a frequent indulger in the spirits, had all kinds of remedies for a hangover hidden in the kitchen closet, including this green tea vapor rub that she put on her head to get rid of the headaches.

Holly also knew where she hid the prescription-strength pain reliever. But Mom didn't need to know that.

"Are you feeling any better?" Michael asked, peeking over at her quickly. He kept asking that, and Holly wished she had good news for him — but she didn't.

"A little bit," she lied, and buried her hand in her hair, tugging on it to distract her from the headache. She squeezed her eyes shut as they turned into view of the sun. "How close are we?"

"We're here now!" he replied perkily. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Sorry. We're here."

She could feel the vehicle make a turn into the driveway, and away from the sun — and only then did she dare to open her eyes, praying to avoid the piercing pain in the back of her skull. It didn't help that the air conditioning was on, drying out her eyes and making her head somehow hurt worse.

She missed the bitter cold. Wasn't Colorado supposed to be cold?

The car came to a stop, and she looked up from her lap to find Michael frowning at her. He unbuckled his seatbelt, as if to go in with her — but Holly put her hand on his to stop him.

"You can stay out here," she said quietly. She unbuckled her own seatbelt, and added, "I don't wanna wake them this early."

"I can go get it for you," he offered, and it seemed sincere — not one of those offering-just-to-be-polite things he tended to do. "You can lay back, relax. Just tell me where to look."

"It's okay," Holly insisted, and put on a weak smile. "I really am feeling better. Don't worry."

Michael didn't appear convinced, but he didn't argue back. He leaned over to kiss her cheek, though — softly, sensitive to her aching temples. When he drew back, she caught a brief shadow in his eyes, looking upon her with something like guilt. She wondered if he felt to blame for her sickness, which would be silly but something totally common for Michael.

Holly squeezed his hand. "I love you."

"Love you, too," he muttered. He watched her intently still, as she opened her door and stepped out of the car; and then after she shut the door, she could feel his eyes on her as she rounded the vehicle and headed up to the house.

It wasn't something she enjoyed thinking about, but Holly had to wonder what kinds of things she'd said to him last night while under the influence. She remember bits and pieces of their encounters — including comparing him sexually to Tarzan, with a certain boldness she would never again find — but there was a chance she'd said something worse, which now provoked him to worry to death over her.

Maybe he was literally just concerned for her health after throwing up half her body's water content last night. There was no way to know.

Holly reached the top of the steps and pulled out her house key, unlocking the house as quietly as she could. She was eager to get inside, because for some reason, she felt self-conscious knowing that he could see her. She'd never been drunk in front of even a boyfriend before — and a _fiance_? She'd never be the same again.

And perhaps it was a bad quality to have in a relationship, that this concerned her so much. Michael was almost her husband, and yet she felt so afraid that she would spill some kind of secret in front of him. Was there really so much she kept to herself?

The house was silent, which was to her advantage as Holly sneaked through the living room and over to the kitchen. She covered her eyes to avoid the sunlight pouring through the large window beside her, until it was behind her — and her shoes hit linoleum, and she was in the kitchen. She opened her eyes.

She'd timed this perfectly. Her mom had been drinking last night, too.

 _We drink in sync_ , she remarked to herself, and smiled. And she made a mental note to repeat this to Michael when she returned to the car.

Holly opened the kitchen closet softly, since every noise echoed in this room, and scanned the inside for the hangover shelf — which now was not so distinct. Every shelf seemed to have a little bit of hangover in it. Maybe Mom was hungover when she organized it.

As she searched through the mess of pill bottles, hand towels, aprons, and cookbooks, Holly's sleepy mind woke more as the punning began to take form. _Drinkronization. Alcohaligned. We drank at the same… rank…_

Her mind wasn't quite awake enough to think of anything good.

Finally, she spotted the vapor rub and stretched up to reach it. After only a couple hopping attempts, she managed to get it down, and she examined the jar. Her mom had always told her that there were health warnings on these things, but Holly imagined this was just to keep her from stealing it during high school. Holly had experienced some awful migraines in high school, mainly because of the stress of dual enrollment and her classmates' distaste toward her… and because of her high school boyfriend, who may or may not have been seeing other girls — Holly had never definitively found out before they'd broken up…

" _Get_ outta th-"

Holly jumped out of her skin and slammed the closet door shut instinctively, like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar — which was accurate, because here was her father, with a disapproving look on his face. Actually, the look was more frightened than anything else — holding up the wooden banana-rack for protection.

"Dad," Holly breathed, relieved that it was only him. "Sorry, I didn't… mean to wake you up. I just came over-"

"Who are you?" Dad asked before she could finish, and brandished his makeshift weapon as threateningly as a banana-rack could be brandished.

Holly's eyes widened.

He didn't recognize her. In fact, he was threatening her.

Holly imagined he was just startled from having been woken so unusually, so she lowered her voice and replied calmly, "It's Holly, Dad. I have a key — I didn't break in."

"I don't know you," Dad insisted, panic in his eyes. "Show me your hands!"

Her mouth fell open. "Dad-"

" _Show me your hands_!"

Holly held her hands out peaceably and spoke slowly; "Dad, look at me. It's okay. You're just a little confused, but if you put that down, we can talk-"

Her father — her own _father_ — stepped toward her with a baleful expression and speed, raising the instrument higher — and Holly jolted back, lungs filling in fear. He was actually going to _hit_ her; he didn't know her and he was-

" _Mom_?" Holly shouted up at the ceiling as she backed up, hands raised high in surrender. "Dad-"

"Stop talking! Get _out_!"

" _Mom_!" she shouted louder, as loudly as she could, and tried to keep the fear out of her voice as she locked eyes with her dad and slowly inched away. "Your name is Howard. You're married to Annie. You live in Colorado-"

" _ **Get the hell**_ _out of my house before I beat the living_ _ **shit**_ _out of you!_ " Dad roared, in a way he would never do — not even to a stranger, not even to a burglar — not in a way that was of sound mind. He was terrified. " _Do you_ _ **hear me**_ _?_ "

Holly's jaw trembled as her eyes were suddenly teary, not expecting this from her _dad,_ not in a million years. She swallowed, trying to think of something to say-

" _Howard!_ " came her mother's voice from the stairway, shrill and demanding. Holly's head whipped toward the hall, her hands shaking as she grabbed the dining table…

"Mom, something's wrong-"

Her mother reached the living room and her eyes landed on Dad, who stood in the doorway of the kitchen, banana-rack raised high and angry fear burning in his eyes — which flicked between Holly and Mom, equally unrecognizing. Holly's chest caved at the sight of her dad looking at her mom, too, as if she were a total stranger.

"Howard, put that down!" Mom shouted instantly, storming into the room. Holly jolted at the sound. "Get _away_ from your daughter right now!"

"I don't know her!" Dad fussed furiously, confusion turning to panic. "I don't know you — I don't know-"

"Mom, I think he's having a stroke."

"No, he's not," her mother muttered, to Holly's complete bewilderment — and she inched past Holly to get to Dad. "Howard, look at me — you need to get back to bed. The doctor said-"

"Get off me!"

" _Listen to me_ , for _five fucking seconds-_ "

"Mom, don't yell at him!"

The front door flew open, and Holly was the only one to look over and spot Michael, whose eyes were round in worry. "What's going on?" he asked, looking between Holly and her parents. "I heard shouting."

Holly's lips parted, her eyes blurry from tears — she didn't know what to tell him. Gripping at the table, she glanced at her parents. "Dad's… not-"

"Help me get Howard upstairs," Annie interrupted urgently, and this order was directed strictly at Michael. "Holly, sit down, honey."

"Do I need to call 911?" Michael asked.

"Yes," Holly said.

" _No_ ," Annie insisted, and motioned Michael over. "He's not having a stroke. I'll talk to you about it in a minute, now _please_."

Holly turned to Michael, who now approached the scene — and she opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came to her. She was overwhelmed, and her head was pounding, and her Dad wasn't okay, and…

And she was terrified.

* * *

 _ **Sorry for the wait. Thanks for the reviews - hope you enjoy!**_


	64. You and I Walk a Fragile Line

**Chapter LXIV**

 **You and I Walk a Fragile Line**

* * *

 _You and I walk a fragile line;_

 _I have known it all this time,_

 _But I never thought I'd live to see it break._

\- "Haunted" by Taylor Swift.

* * *

Ten-ish minutes ago, everything had been fine.

It had been better than fine, actually. Holly was starting to feel better; Michael had a good song stuck in his head, and they'd had leftover KFC and waffles for breakfast that morning, although Holly had barely eaten any, so Michael had gotten extra — another example of how fine this day had been. They were heading to work, and Michael had plans to be as loud as possible around Heather as thanks for trying to get Holly plastered.

He'd been contemplating the fine-ness of the day when he'd first heard shouting from inside the house. And he'd automatically assumed it was Holly and her mother arguing, since Holly was hungover and irritable and Annie had the tendency to be a loud person in the mornings. Also, she had the tendency to be a bitch.

He wouldn't take that back, even now, as they softly shut Howard's bedroom door and shared an anxious look with each other.

She was still a bitch. And so was Howard.

Michael knew that it was unfair, since Howard had dementia and didn't know who he was or what he was doing — but Michael was still pissed at him. The second he'd walked in and seen Howard, arm raised, threatening her, Michael felt a wave of no-goddamn-idea-what-he-was-about-to-do rage.

"We have to go down-"

"What _happened_?" Michael hissed, eyes widened at her. He kept his voice low so as not to be heard downstairs — but he packed every bit of fury into the words. "Why was he awake? What was he doing down here?"

"He fell asleep on the couch," Annie said, and rubbed her face anxiously. "I was drunk, and tired, and I didn't think we'd have _visitors_ in the morning. Good thinking, by the way!"

"He was about to hit her!" Michael snapped — and he'd never talked to Annie this way without a bad reaction. But now, Annie was too wrapped up in her thoughts to argue back. "What if you hadn't woken up? What if I wasn't here?"

"I know!"

"He would have _hit her_ ," he emphasized, and had to remind himself to keep his voice low. " _Annie_."

"I _know_ ," Annie said, shaking her head. "I know what I did. I know it."

"So what do we do _now_?"

"We have to tell her!"

"We can't _tell her_ ," Michael shot back in distress, glancing down the stairs. "Last night, she got drunk as hell and told me she loved me more than the Smurfs — _and_ that she wants to move up the wedding."

"I know," she muttered.

"You're gonna choose _now_ to screw everything up?"

"I didn't choose it!"

" _Mom?"_

The conversation was cut short.

Holly was downstairs, probably still shaken by the whole experience. Annie had told her not to worry, but of course, she was going to worry. She had every right to worry. She had no idea what was happening.

The look on her face when Michael had first come inside — mouth covered, eyes full of tears, body shrinking away from her parents — would probably be stuck in his mind forever.

"I'm coming!" Annie replied down the stairs, and turned to Michael. "Help me."

Michael's brow furrowed at her. "I'm the one who kept telling you to tell her the truth! _Now_ you want me to help?"

" _You're_ the only reason I didn't tell her on Sunday. She would know by now," she pointed out, grabbing the handrail at the top of the stairs. "Are you going to keep pointing fingers or help me?"

There was movement downstairs — Holly's shoes across the floor — and suddenly, Annie disengaged from the conversation. She started down the stairs, with or without him, peeking down to look for Holly.

Michael lingered at the top of the stairs for a moment, though, until Annie stopped to look back at him. Despite all her bitchiness, she did wear a look of horrible guilt, and fear. All the fake confidence was gone, and all that was left was the shape of a parent, terrified of losing another daughter.

So Michael let out a long, angry sigh and followed her down the stairs. In doing so, he hoped Annie would understand that this was only for Holly's sake — the real victim here. It was for her… and for the sinking feeling that Holly was going to wind up hating him either way.

When they reached the bottom, Annie hesitated at the doorway to the living room, looking ahead to see what they were facing. Michael peeked over her shoulder to see.

Holly stood in the middle of the living room, her pacing ceased at the sight of them, her eyes sunken slightly and her phone in hand. Her shoulders slumped as she turned to them, and she released her swollen lip to speak.

"I looked it up," Holly said, gaze bouncing between the two of them. "There's a few things it could be, but it's most likely-"

"I already know what it is, Hol," Annie interrupted gently.

Holly blinked at her, obviously confused. "W- then what is it? Is he okay?"

"Just sit down," Annie said.

"Is it the new medicine?"

"Sit down," she insisted, "and we'll talk about it."

" _Tell me_ ," Holly said, adamant, and in a tone of voice which was a perfect mixture of fear and determination and anxiety. She did not sit down, and she did not turn off her phone, which still shone with a page from WebMD.

Annie didn't counter, but instead shut her mouth, and stepped into the room. Michael swallowed, watching her go, before hesitantly entering after her.

"Mom," Holly said, deep in her throat. "Is he okay? Is he sick? This new medicine could be causing-"

When her mother reached her, she took the phone right out of Holly's hand and turned it off, without a word. She maintained eye contact the whole time, as she dropped the phone back in the chair behind her. She took Holly's now-free hand in both of hers.

"Your father is all right," Annie reassured her, barely addressing the panic which Holly was obviously drowning in. "This isn't abnormal for someone with his condition. You woke him up in an unusual room at an unusual time, in a way that was not routine. His aggression-"

"He didn't know who I _was_ , Mom," Holly breathed as she retracted her hands, chin tilting down to speak lower. "He didn't know who any of us were. He didn't know this _house_."

"That's because he hasn't taken his medicine yet, Holly," her mother said simply.

Holly shook her head. "Mom, he isn't _this_ bad off his medicine. I've seen him in the mornings _before_."

"No, you haven't. Not really," Annie said, and this stopped Holly's ambush of words. In fact, this stopped all words from anyone.

Michael watched from behind the chairs as if it were a movie scene, looking between Holly's falling expression and Annie's look of resignation — the fear slowly fading from Holly's face, and slowly growing in Annie's eyes.

"I haven't let you," Annie went on to say. And she glanced back at Michael, in a way that suddenly caused him to freeze, incriminated already. "When you two moved in, I started waking up earlier to take care of his medication before you woke up. I didn't want you to know how bad it was, because you would worry."

Holly seemed lost, still, and her hands came up to pull her hair out of her face. "You're saying, that… before he's had his medication, he doesn't remember… anything?"

Annie parted her lips to respond, but hesitant, pressed them together again. She swallowed.

Holly's eyes were now shiny with tears, having held onto them all this time, and her mouth fell open slightly — and she didn't bother covering it now. Her head fell down to the floor to hide her shocked expression.

Michael tried to keep his gaze on the chair below him.

Finally, Annie spoke. "This new brand slows brain shrinkage, just like the old one. We're just trying to find one that works best for him, without causing any heart problems or fatigue. It's just when he's getting used to new medications that he can tend to be a little agitative."

"So this has happened before," Holly said without looking up, sniffing.

Annie nodded. "It's just a symptom. He usually responds well to someone taking a place of authority, though. The doctor said-"

"Do you always scream at him like that?" she cut her off, raising her head. Her eyes were full of hurt, so much that Michael had to look away. He didn't want to watch this devolve into a screaming match.

There was a hint of guilt in Annie's voice as she admitted, "If it's what it takes to protect me or the people I love, yes, I scream like that. If it helps, he never remembers it."

"That doesn't-" Holly began bitterly, head jerking down. She shook her head, leaving that in the air. "So… if he doesn't remember anything by himself, right _now_ , then how long until…"

Michael's lungs swelled and he bit down on his tongue to distract himself.

Annie's shoulders fell slowly, and her voice took a new, weak tone. "We've had a few second opinions, and most optimistically… he might have two years before it all goes. If they can't find a medicine that doesn't interact badly, it might be more like one year. But they said they have plenty more to try…"

Holly didn't reply to this information, nor did she even seem to hear it. Her eyes were locked on the floor a bit in front of her, tears thick on her eyelashes — but that was as much as Michael could see before he averted his eyes ashamedly. He couldn't watch.

He never wanted to make her cry, and yet, he just kept doing it.

"Holly," Annie said, after a long period of silence. She reached out for her-

"Why didn't you tell me?" Holly shot back, lifting her head to reveal falling tears, pink cheeks, and furious eyes. "You knew for so _long_. Why didn't… why? You didn't think I'd want to know?"

"I was afraid," Annie admitted, and took a deep breath. "That you'd hate me, or you'd blame yourself for not visiting more. I knew if I told you, you'd start panicking and you'd do something crazy, like rushing the wedding or quitting your job…"

"That's not so crazy!" Holly snapped, eyebrows raised as she stepped away from her mother. "What's crazy about- I'm losing my _dad_. I wanna be with him while I have him, so why wouldn't I?"

That's when Michael felt that he had to jump in, because Annie was losing control of this conversation and Holly was starting to derail.

"You shouldn't make any of those decisions because of this," Michael interjected, leaning over the chair to get her attention — but that was no problem, as they both instantly turned to face him. He focused on Holly, and ignored Annie. "Your dad wouldn't want you to ruin all your plans for things he won't even remember."

"But _I'll_ remember them!" Holly said, lip trembling as she looked back at her mother. " _I_ want to talk to my dad on my wedding day, and _I_ want him to see my kids, and… I'm… _losing my dad_. I'm losing him."

"You're not losing him," Michael reassured her, feeling pressured to say something now that _he_ was the reason she was crying. "Hey, listen, honey. I've been reading about this, and- tons of people find their way through this, _honey._ There are whole communities of people. It's gonna be okay."

Holly looked at him strangely, as if this were confusing to her. He wondered if he'd said something accidentally that would upset her. He'd read a list of "What Not to Say to Someone in Grieving" and he was pretty sure none of that was on there…

"Did you know about this?"

Michael blinked up at her, thoughts coming to a halt. He was caught off-guard at the betrayal in her stare.

 _That_ was what he'd done.

He instantly pushed off the chair to go to her. "Holly-"

"I need to _go_ ," Holly said, voice breaking at the end as she retreated from both her mother and Michael at the same time…

"Don't go," Annie said, reaching for her.

" _Holly_ , just-"

"I need to-" Holly started, but she had to catch her breath, looking away. She inhaled sharply before looking back. "Did you even… Did I matter, in this?"

"Of course, you did!"

"We didn't want to hurt you," Michael said, his voice failing him as he waited for Holly, hoping she wouldn't leave like this — hoping she wouldn't hate him, praying she wouldn't…

Holly just looked at the door, right past Michael, and whispered, "I need to go to work."

And it was apparent that she was finished with them for now.

So when Holly stepped up and inched around him, Michael's hand brushed on her hip to stop her, but she did not stop. And when Annie's mouth opened to speak, she almost did, but then she didn't.

Holly did, though, just in front of the door, hesitate. She didn't turn around, but she hesitated.

"Can you take the other car?"

Michael's whole being deflated. This wasn't what he'd been hoping to hear.

But he looked over to check with Annie, and nodded. "Sure, yeah. I can do that."

"Thank you," Holly said, and opened the door.

"I love you," he said as she went.

But she shut the door before she could have replied.

And with that, Michael and Annie were again left alone, as they stared at different objects and listened to the sound of the car pulling out into the street.

* * *

 _ **Hm. That one hurt. Thanks for reading and let me know what you're thinkin.**_


	65. I Just Wanna Hide Away

**Chapter LXV**

 **I Just Wanna Hide Away**

* * *

 _So take a leave of absence; tell me you'll be gone._

 _I don't wanna see your face…_

 _It's been a long day,_

 _And I just wanna hide away._

\- "Been a Long Day" by Rosi Golan.

* * *

Holly already didn't know how much longer she could handle 3:08 P.M.

It had been stuck on the clock in the corner of her screen for ages.

It was the lengthiest minute in the manmade concept of time. It was eternity.

She wasn't sure why she was so eager for the workday to end, since she was at the same time terrified to leave this office. Nowhere was safe from the prying eyes of the coworkers who had seen her walk into the office this morning, with tears in her eyes, rushing to avoid Michael on his way inside. Nowhere was secure from Michael himself, and his concern and his constant text messages and his face…

And absolutely nothing was safe from her mother. No singular thing was out of the reach of her controlling, manipulative fingers. Nothing was out from under her rule — not even Michael.

Holly didn't even want to go home today. She didn't want to stay here, either. She didn't want to _be_ anywhere.

Still, she watched the clock.

 _3:08 P.M. - 7/12/2011._

It was probably just for distraction, from paperwork and her buzzing phone and the twenty-odd web articles on the search page in front of her, waiting to be clicked.

If she was being her rational, normal self, she would have finished her work long before now. She would also have answered the first out of probably a hundred and seven text messages from her mother and Michael, if only to tell them she was busy and didn't want to talk right now. And if she were her rational, normal self, she would already be tearing through the internet, looking for home remedies and treatments and medications for…

There it was again. Swiftly came the devastation.

She looked back at the clock.

 _3:09 P.M._

She sighed in relief, as another minute had passed, and she still hadn't broken down.

It wasn't as if she'd been watching the clock since she came into work this morning. Originally, she'd been getting things done — signing forms and reports and even taking part in a fairly uneventful meeting, which was challenging but fortunately rather brief. As long as she kept in the back hall, she felt safe.

When she went into the break room for lunch, though, she'd run into some trouble. And it wasn't Michael, or Ginny and Heather, or any person at all.

It was York's Peppermint Patties.

They were just sitting in the vending machine, unsold, for no good reason. It didn't look as if anyone had taken any in a few days.

She put in six dollars and started jamming E-2.

Holly didn't usually eat too much candy, and whenever she did, it was sugar-coated or sour — not chocolate-covered mints. She hadn't had a peppermint patty in years, actually, and they only tasted decent to her now. But that was because she'd had so many as a kid.

Growing up with two health-conscious parents did not make for a lot of candy. It meant plenty of healthy dinners, weekend trips to the park, walking the dog around the neighborhood every day, and going to bed early. It was not the environment for after-school ice cream cones, cartoons on weekdays, and candy as a reward system.

Fortunately, Holly had only grown up with _one_ health-conscious parent, and he was the one who stayed at home.

Holly wasn't a child who wanted many things, since she'd been early on tasked with making dinner nearly every school day, splitting the house chores with her father, and managing her own educational and social problems. The things that a mother stereotypically did, her mother did not do. She worked in the evenings, so she was rarely home when Holly was; on weekends, she had to manage parties at the restaurant and, whenever she had free time, she was too stressed or tired to have fun. The only time Holly really spent with her mother was on the car ride to school in the morning.

Holly wasn't a child who wanted many things, but she'd wanted her mother.

Dad had stepped up in that aspect, although he wasn't as responsible with the housekeeping as her mother would have been — but in the ask-about-her-school-day, help-her-with-homework, take-her-out-to-movies, always-buy-her-York-mint-patties-at-the-drug-store way, he was the best parent in the world.

She could still remember every trip to pick up vitamins, Mom's fruity shampoo, and even her first tampons with her incredibly-awkward father — and she never wanted to go there as a child, because a creepy old woman ran the counter and would sometimes offer her a stick of gum. But Dad always promised her that if she came with him, he'd protect her from the old woman… _and_ he'd buy her any candy she wanted. And it was always York mint patties.

He knew how to make the unpleasant things more pleasant — the scary things less scary. But this morning, for the first time in her whole life, _he_ had been scary.

So she shoved four York mints into her mouth and tried not to think about it.

Now, though, she was down to one more mint patty, and she hadn't spread them out sparingly. She didn't know what she was going to do when she ran out of the candy. She'd be too embarrassed to go out there and purchase more, and risk being seen. But if she didn't stress-eat or work or do _something_ to get her mind off this whole issue, she didn't know what she was going to do.

 _3:11 P.M._

And time just wasn't moving.

It was about this time every day when Holly had waited for her dad to pick her up from school. She'd had this similar aching desire to leave then, too. She could remember a hundred different reasons why school was torture — and if it hadn't been, she would have dreaded coming home to do chores and make dinner and then do homework and then go to bed at a reasonable hour.

But she got to do all those things with her dad, and somehow, it wasn't so bad.

In fact, she had some fond memories of cleaning — something she still hated to do, to this day. But Dad had made a game out of everything, somehow, including a National Sweep-Off in which they would race to clean the most dirt out from under the kitchen counters; and also, the Cup Family game, which required that she dry off all the glasses he handed her and then arrange them into "families" on the countertop. And there was also the Vacuum Monster event, in which Holly would have to pick things up off the floor and avoid getting eaten by the vacuum cleaner…

But he couldn't make this better. They couldn't make a game out of dementia.

Holly forewent conservative efforts and polished off the last mint.

The taste didn't help. It just took her back, and it flooded her with memories, and it reminded her of just how much she valued those memories.

And her father wouldn't get to keep them. He wouldn't know what a good father he was to her, and how much fun they'd had, and how much she loved him. He wouldn't look at her and see the daughter he'd once tucked into bed every night.

She would be a stranger.

Holly had to stop looking at her computer now, elbows propped on her desk, and buried her face in her hands. She pressed at her eyelids, trying to keep the headache away as she held back tears. She didn't want to think about this. She didn't even want any more mints. She wanted a drink.

There were so many memories she didn't _have yet_ , though, and that was what haunted her. The wedding might be soon enough, with the progression of his condition — but her children… How was she supposed to be a parent without her dad there to support her? Michael and Mom were _clearly_ not on her side, and she needed _someone_ on her side.

Michael was supposed to be on her side.

And now he and her mom were texting her like mad, as if she was being horribly unfair in ignoring them — as if _she_ were to blame for being angry, and hurt. Holly was always one to take the blame for her emotions. She was slow to anger, slow to speak, and _that_ was something her dad taught her. So what the hell did they want from her?

Someone knocked on the door outside.

At first, Holly thought it was another door, and didn't respond — although she quickly started back on her paperwork, just to look as if she were working. Then the knock came again.

"Who is it?" Holly asked. Normally, she wouldn't have bothered asking; but there was a good chance it was Michael, and she didn't want to see him.

" _Uh, delivery."_

That was a woman. And it wasn't Michael's "woman voice"; it was a real woman.

"Come in."

The door opened and in popped Ginny's head, her expression blank if a little nervous. Holly gave her a small smile, relieved to see anyone other than Michael at the door. "Hi, Ginny. What can I do ya for?"

"I have, um," Ginny began, but her voice dropped a level. She inched through the door, revealing a gigantic muffin in one hand and a to-go cup in the other. She shut the door with her elbow, and turned back to Holly; and she lifted her hands. "From Michael."

Holly's face fell, and she looked down to keep from showing her irritation. Ginny either didn't notice or didn't want to comment, as she crossed the room to Holly's desk.

"Chocolate chip," Ginny remarked, setting the muffin down in front of her. When Holly lifted her head, pursed her lips. "Um, and tea. I hope I got the right kind. Michael's handwriting was pretty hard to read and I was distracted because he wanted all the change back-"

"Don't worry about it," Holly reassured her, smiling. She accepted the cup graciously. "I didn't… You didn't have to get this. You're not _my_ assistant."

"Michael pays me to do this," Ginny said quickly. "And I really need the extra cash, so… anything else you need?"

Holly didn't like this. She didn't like Michael telling people to do things for her, and drawing attention to her, and she _really_ didn't need it today. And Ginny was someone Holly considered a possible friend, and she didn't want Michael to mess with that.

"Michael told me you had a hangover," she then clarified, as if she could read Holly's mind. She shrugged. "I have pain reliever in my car."

"No, that's okay," Holly said, shaking her head.

"I can seriously do anything."

"Can you?" Holly asked, instinctively, and her head flew up. She forced an impatient smile. "Can you do something for me? Can you tell _Michael —_ tell him that I need him to leave me _alone_ right now. I will pay you five dollars just to _tell him_ that."

Ginny's eyes widened.

Holly realized she'd gotten a little too sharp with that and cleared her throat.

"Sorry."

"Free of charge," Ginny said, right away. She clasped her hands together, backing away from the desk. "I will tell him that. Thank you."

Holly swallowed as she watched Ginny retreat from the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Holly slumped down over her desk, exhaling all her frustration quite loudly. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to reconcile all this irritation with herself — because it was okay that she was angry, because she was facing a difficult situation and she was hungover and she was _allowed_ to be mad…

And she felt terrible.

So she finally reached over to pick up her phone, which hadn't buzzed in a few minutes, and turned it on. She barely opened her eyes enough to scroll through the messages on the lock screen.

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _I'm so so so sorry honey! PLEASE talk to me!_

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _Are u okay?_

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _I love u. I really need to see u. Can I come to your office?_

Holly bit her lip, wishing he wouldn't be so sweet right now. It made her feel so guilty for being angry at him.

She skipped past her mother's text messages, which were so full of shit that she wasn't even going to set eyes on them right now. She kept scrolling, looking for his name, just to see what he was thinking.

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _I didn't mean to keep it from u but ur mom told me she'd handle it & I was scared to get in the middle of it!_

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _She's a very intimidating woman_

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _I love u! Please answer?_

 _ **Mike Wazowski :3**_

 _Hello?_

Holly stopped looking there, shutting her phone off and dropping it down on the desk.

She didn't know what to do with this. She didn't know where to begin.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading. Leave a comment to kick my ass.**_


	66. About a Burning House

**Chapter LXVI**

 **About a Burning House**

* * *

 _I had a dream about a burning house…_

 _And you were stuck inside;_

 _I couldn't get you out…_

\- "Burning House" by Cam.

* * *

Michael had done a lot of stupid things in his life — in his family, and at his job, and in his love life, just a bunch of horrible decisions. He didn't like to think back on those times, because they really made him cringe, and second-guess himself, and he didn't like to second-guess anything. And once, these things had caused him much regret.

But the thing about finding the love of his life, and building this future together, and finally having marriage and kids in sight, and basically watching everything fall into place, was that it made all his mistakes and regrets fade. He couldn't feel guilty, because every step he'd taken, for better or for worse, had led him to Holly. Every stupid thing and horrible decision had brought him here.

The other edge of this sword had been hidden from him, though, and now it was apparent: that any single decision could take her away from him.

So he was coming into this with tiramisu, and fear.

Nine hours had officially passed since Holly had last spoken to Michael. He had seen her but once after the incident this morning, and it was only on her way to the bathroom — and upon seeing him, it was clear that she didn't want to talk to him. The rest of the day was spent trying to work, trying to text Holly, trying to call Holly, or trying to eat his feelings.

He'd accomplished none of these things.

At the end of the workday, Holly had driven home alone, giving Michael the opportunity to stop by Olive Garden and pick up Holly's second favorite lasagna, and her third-favorite dessert, as was the best he could do on such short notice. Then on the drive, he'd planned at least three different versions of the same speech, which he would give her as soon as she was willing to talk to him. And maybe, he'd do it even before then.

The speech mainly consisted of him repeatedly telling her how sorry he was, and how guilty he felt, and how much he needed her to talk to him — followed by some sincere if maybe a little manipulative physical affection. He knew the ways to Holly's heart — sad eyes and neck kisses — and if he could use these things to convince her to forgive him, then maybe she'd open up to him.

So he marched up the stairs to the apartment, eager but also hesitant but also scared as hell. He didn't know what reaction to expect from her this time. Holly was rarely angry, or she rarely expressed any anger. But he'd seen a different look in her eyes this morning.

It was one of utter betrayal, and it had been stuck in his head all day.

That, and Annie's ringtone, because the woman wouldn't stop calling him.

He wondered — he really, truly wondered if she thought his answer would be any different this time, as her ringtone once again filled the stairwell, and he once again ignored it. Every time he answered, he told her same thing. He didn't know how Holly was doing. Holly _definitely_ didn't want to talk to Annie. And he would call her if anything changed.

 _And yet,_ here she was, calling again.

Michael shifted the takeout bags to his left arm and pulled his phone out of his pocket, declining the call instantly. He then shoved it back into his pocket and finished off the stairs, heading now for their door.

When he got there, though, he stopped, and took a deep breath. He had to wonder what he would face inside. She'd been crying this morning. Was she gonna cry?

" _I'm…_ _ **losing**_ _my dad. I'm losing him."_

If she started crying, he would just have to hide in the bathroom. He couldn't handle it.

Michael wasn't sure what the etiquette was for this — if he was supposed to knock or something, since she was avoiding him — but he went ahead and opened the door, checking inside before he entered. Fortunately, Holly was not in the living room.

He stepped gingerly into the apartment, not announcing himself but shutting the door loudly enough that she could probably hear. He bit the inside of his cheek as he set the food on the counter, unsure of what to do next. Stealthily, he peeked down into the hallway.

None of the lights were on.

It was possible that she wasn't here. He hadn't looked for her car in the parking lot.

"Holly?" he asked cautiously, leaning into the hallway…

Then he saw motion in his peripheral vision, and his head whipped around to face the glass doors, his whole body jumping, prepared for a murderer. For some reason, he grabbed the back of one of the barstools, as if he could possibly lift and wield one of them…

But upon closer inspection, he found that it was only Holly, seated on her yoga mat, facing away from the doors. She stretched in peace, clearly unaware that he was home. She did not appear to be crying, even a little bit.

Michael sighed in relief, not only because it was Holly and not a murderer — double-win — but because Holly was obviously taking this better than he'd feared. Maybe she'd changed her mind on the whole thing since this morning. Maybe she'd even forgive him.

Feeling a little more confident, Michael picked up the takeout and rounded the couch toward the patio. He slowed down to watch her for a moment, in her peaceful, focused state, and tried to think of a way to greet her without startling her. He considered tapping on the glass, but he didn't think that was a good idea.

So he slowly, quietly, pulled the door open with his free hand. Holly still jolted in surprise, but he'd given it a shot.

Michael froze when Holly looked up at him, her eyes wide in surprise; she instantly looked down as her face fell. That small movement caused him a lot of pain in only a few seconds.

He swallowed.

"Hey," he said, as if he'd only just noticed her. He smiled weakly, and held out the paper bag in his hand. "I brought Italian. Ish. It's Olive Garden, so… Italian-ish."

"Thank you," Holly said, without a hint of emotion. She didn't begin stretching again, or even move, really — just stared at the sky in front of them in silence.

Michael watched her for a moment, though he tried to be subtle about it. Her eyes looked slightly puffy, but he hoped that was just in his imagination; her shoulders hung low and she kept her face turned away, so that he couldn't see her — so that he couldn't engage…

He hadn't been this close to her all day. She hadn't _looked_ at him all day, and now that she was here, he didn't know what to do. He just sighed, anxiously, and looked out over the railing, waiting for something to come to him…

"So how was work?"

"Fine," Holly said quickly, as she picked up from her yoga mat and straightened up.

"Holly," Michael said, reaching out for her arm — but Holly shrunk back a step, finally meeting his eyes. Her gaze was full of hurt and anger as she studied him, and the pain of that one look was enough to shut him up.

After a moment of silence, Holly lowered her eyes again and inched past him. "I don't want to talk," she muttered as she entered the house.

And Michael let her go with that, at first, because he didn't want to push her. He knew he'd messed up, and he knew she was going to need time to forgive him…

But she was sad, and she was facing this alone. And right now, he didn't need her forgiveness — he just needed to help her.

So before she could escape to the hallway, Michael stepped into the apartment, and called, "Please talk to me!"

This was enough to stop her in her tracks, although she didn't turn around. Michael waited to see if she would respond, and when she didn't, he sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said, expression dropping and shoulders sinking. "That this is happening, and that I didn't tell you about it. That I _hurt you,_ I- I didn't mean to hurt you…"

"How long did you know?" Holly shot back, voice quiet but sharp, as she turned to face him. Her face was not merely inquisitive, but set with anger and disappointment. "When did she tell you?"

"She didn't tell me," Michael clarified as he walked further into the room. "I found out… around the time you got that job at Dish. You'd already gone to bed, and Howard… was having one of his moments, so I helped your mom calm him down. And she _told_ me that she was gonna tell you."

Holly's mouth softened at this information, as she studied Michael silently — and she shook her head slowly. "So all this time, you just… kept it from me."

"I didn't think it was my place to tell!" Michael said, a bit defensively, but he toned it down as he approached her. "I mean, she didn't explain any of it to me. I didn't even know how much you knew, or if you'd tell me once you knew…"

This seemed to comfort her somewhat, because when he nearly reached her, there in the middle of the room, she didn't evade him. Eventually, she was close enough to touch, and she seemed more receptive to him as his hands moved for her arms. His apology was working.

"Honestly, it didn't come up that much after that," he continued nervously, and his fingertips grazed her elbows. "It wasn't even until Sunday when your mom decided she was gonna tell you — and the only reason I stopped her then was because you just started at this new job, and I wanted to give you time to settle in-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Holly stopped him, lifting her hands to chest level, brow furrowing. "What do you mean, you 'stopped her?' You told her _not_ to tell me?"

It occurred to him that this might have made him look bad.

He cleared his throat. "I… yeah. But I wanted her to tell you way before that! I just couldn't have her tell you _now_ because we were making so much progress since that A.J. thing, and we were planning the _wedding_ -"

"You didn't want her to tell me because of the wedding?"

"No!"

"Because of _A.J.?_ " Holly asked in horror, angry tears pricking at her eyes now — and he could tell that this was bad, this was very, _very_ bad…

"No, no, no, _honey_ ," he insisted, and reached for her hands again — but she did not accept. "I just wanted her to wait a little bit. I was scared."

"Why _couldn't_ I know?" Holly shot back, eyes wide. "What would- did you think I'd go crazy? Did you think I'd just explode?"

"I wasn't- that's not-"

"Is this what you and Mom do behind my back?" she continued without stopping for a breath, hands thrown out. "You just sit there and talk about all the secrets you're keeping from me and arbitrate what I can or can't handle? _That's_ fair!"

"I'm sick of seeing you get _hurt_!" Michael said, raising his voice. "After everything that's happened since we got here, I just liked seeing you happy. Does that make me so terrible?"

"You're sick of seeing me- I'm… _Michael_ ," Holly said, so angry that she could barely form words. "I'm hurt _now_. You two are the ones who hurt me."

Michael's breath caught, and he swallowed. "I know. That's why I feel so _terrible_ about this."

"No, you feel terrible because I'm mad at you!" she shouted, and it was strange, and horrible, seeing her anger truly come out. "If you or my mother gave half a crap about me getting hurt, you would have told me, because it was my _right_ to know! He's my _dad_!"

These words echoed in the hallway, as she had now backed up out of the living room — and they put an end to the conversation for the moment, because Michael was stunned, and he was in pain. Holly was yelling at him. She was standing in front of him, her eyes big and teary from anger, her every muscle on end, and she was yelling at him.

And he'd _hurt_ her, and he was defending himself for it.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, his eyes dropping down to the floor. "I'm so, so, so _sorry_ , Holly."

"I'm mad," she said again, as if in realization — and when he looked up at her, she was staring at his chest blankly. "I love you, but I'm… mad, and I'm hurt. And I think I need to be those things right now."

"I know," Michael agreed, nodding.

"So just," she began, uncertainly, and shook her head; "just let me be that, please. Both of you, just please, stop texting me and sending me sad eyes and buying me muffins. Just let me feel this."

And he didn't want to agree to it, but he nodded again, because he had no choice. "Okay, I'll… lay off."

"And…" Holly said, her words dropping off as she lifted her eyes just to test for his reaction. Michael kept a straight face, so that she wouldn't feel guilted into anything. She took a deep breath.

"I think I need to sleep on the couch tonight," she admitted softly. She lowered her head and brushed her hair back, sniffing. "Is that okay?"

No, it wasn't _okay_. He hated this already. He hated that she wanted to be alone and that she wouldn't be sleeping next to him and that he couldn't even send her _muffins_ when she was sad, and he hated, he _hated_ that he had to say yes. But he knew that he did.

So he nodded his head.

* * *

 _ **It was weird, writing Holly angry. When a character is only in a few episodes of something, you don't get that full range of emotion to work with - so you have to work it out yourself. Looking back, I think I did okay.**_


	67. Give a Little Time to Me

**Chapter LXVII**

 **Give a Little Time to Me**

* * *

 _Give a little time to me —_

 _Or burn this out._

 _We'll play hide and seek_

 _To turn this around._

\- "Give Me Love" by Ed Sheeran.

* * *

When she woke the next morning, Holly was at first quite startled.

Having only lived in this apartment for a little less than two weeks, she hadn't gotten used to all the rooms yet. In fact, it was still strange to wake up in the mornings, not in Nashua and not in Scranton and not at her parents' house, but Michael's leg dangling over hers and his slow breaths in her ear were usually enough to remind her. But today, she found herself in _another_ unusual environment.

Today, she woke to face her reflection in the TV, with her elbow on the coffee table and her feet stretching out from under the tiny blanket that covered her, which covered her skin in goosebumps as the naturally-cold air of the apartment flew up under the covers. She instinctively rolled over toward Michael, to bury her face in his chest, and wrap her legs around him…

Instead, she bumped her head against the back of the couch, and her legs wrapped around nothing.

Her first instant thought was that she'd been kidnapped.

But her next thoughts, as she looked around the living room under the calm light of early morning flooding through the glass doors, were a bit more rational. Her memories came to her one by one, as she recalled that she'd gone to sleep on the couch last night, watching _Friends_ late into the night hours. Then she remembered that she hadn't just fallen asleep there — she'd _chosen_ to sleep there. She'd brought her pillow and everything she needed to sleep on the couch, by herself…

Then she remembered why Michael wasn't there with her.

They'd fought.

In fact, they'd fought multiple times, about multiple things. He'd been arguing that she could come to bed and he would keep on his side, and before that, they'd argued about dinner, when Michael announced that they had no silverware and Holly informed him that it had been his turn to do the dishes, and he'd claimed that it wasn't, and then before that, about the thing with her dad… which she recalled swiftly.

And right away, Holly was ready to go back to sleep.

It had all felt like a bad dream, because discovering it and then dealing with Michael and her mom all day had felt so sudden, and so horrible, that it couldn't be reality. In the course of one day, everything she'd planned was over — and that was horrifying, because Holly liked plans. Plans were the gospel. Plans made her happy.

She hadn't planned for her dad to lose his memory.

Five minutes into the day, and Holly was already feeling great. She had half the mind to just forget all this and go back to sleep. She'd rather go into work late if it postponed this reality for another hour.

But her back was hurting and this couch was not comfortable enough for her to keep sleeping on it, so Holly forced herself to sit up, yawning the sleep away and stretching her arms out. She could feel every muscle in her upper back tense up; she winced, reaching a hand back to rub her sore shoulder. She pressed her lips together against the pain.

So sleeping on the couch hadn't been the best idea, physically. At the very least, Holly took comfort in the fact that she was no longer hungover, and her head no longer pounded, and she no longer felt the intense desire to puke out every content of her stomach. In fact, she was hungry, which was a first in the past thirty-something hours.

She just wished she'd gotten that vapor rub from Mom's.

" _ **Get the hell**_ _out of my house before I beat the living_ _ **sh**_ _-"_

Holly instantly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to get those words out of her head right away. That was the last thing she needed to remember.

To clear the thoughts from her head, Holly started up to get something to eat. If she waited too long to eat, her head would start hurting, and that wasn't something she could handle today. She had a lot to consider, and a lot of new plans to make, and a whole life to figure out, and she couldn't do that with a headache.

She stepped up around the counter, then, surveying the kitchen for something acceptable to eat. Normally, she would make Cheerios with bananas — but she really didn't want bananas right now, so that wasn't an option. Then there was peanut butter toast… and if she waited long enough for Michael to wake up, he'd probably make pancakes or waffles or something like that. But she really didn't want to see him.

But that wasn't really true. Just spending one night without him there, engulfing her in his embrace and making her feel that familiar security, gave her this vacant hole inside her chest. She'd missed him, all night, as she was tossing and turning and trying not to think about things or to feel guilty for fighting with him — and she just missed him more than anything. Even if she was mad at him, she wanted him there with her.

She just didn't want to talk to him right now, about this or anything else.

So she grabbed the easiest meal possible, which was a green apple at present, and left it at that.

When Holly returned to the couch, she was met with a relieving sight, at least. Her phone lit up with a notification from Facebook… and nothing else. There were no more text messages from her mother since dinnertime last night. She imagined Michael must have called Mom and told her to cut it out, and for that, she was grateful. A few more text messages would have sent her over the edge.

It wasn't that Holly was so angry at either of them. She was hurt, obviously, that they wouldn't respect her enough to tell her the truth, when she _deserved_ to know what was going on with her dad's health and what it would mean for her future. And sure, she was a little miffed that Michael would have put his dream wedding before Holly's feelings — and that he would get defensive when she confronted him about it, as if she were at fault for feeling betrayed, and angry — _angry_ , she was angry. She was allowed to be angry. She felt _angry_.

It was a liberating feeling, but it wasn't enough to drown out the fear.

The sun was rising outside the window, and it was peaceful, and it was quiet. Holly tried to watch it and relax, and not think about anything except the sunrise, and this apple in her hands…

But it wasn't that simple. Everything was different now, and she had to figure it out for herself. She had decisions to make that would affect her for the rest of her life — but the main question was simple.

 _Am I going to need my dad there?_

She'd never had to pick and choose what parts of her life her dad would witness, but now that he only had a year or two left before everything disappeared, she had to plan ahead. What did she want him there to see? She wanted him to walk her down the aisle at her wedding, definitely — but how much did she want him to meet her kids? How much was she willing to sacrifice to make that happen?

She could reroute everything if she needed to do it. If she told Michael she wanted to have kids now, he would probably jump right in on it. If she told him she wanted to have the wedding tomorrow, he might even go for that. The real question was, how much of their plans did she want to throw away just to be selfish and have her dad there?

He wouldn't remember either way. That's what her mother kept telling her.

But she _wanted_ him there. She wanted _him_ , completely, with all his memories and personality and charisma, bouncing his grandkids on his knee and telling them stories and playing dolls and racing cars. She wanted him to love her kids as much as she would, and as much as he loved her, and she wanted him to love her longer — she wanted her dad to keep loving her. She didn't ever want him to look at her the way he did yesterday.

She didn't want this. She _hated_ this.

She wanted to talk to Michael. She was mad at him, yes, but he always made everything better and she needed it to be better…

So Holly set her half-eaten apple on the table and escaped from the lonely couch of sadness, turning away from the sunrise to leave the living room. She inched quietly down the hallway, on her toes — not sure if Michael was awake or asleep, but hoping he was awake, because she needed him to hug her and kiss her and tell her everything was going to be okay. She needed him to be awake.

Holly rounded the corner and stopped outside the bedroom door, which was shut but probably not locked. She considered knocking, but if he was asleep, she didn't want to wake him. And she imagined that he wouldn't mind her bursting in on him. At least, she hoped he wouldn't mind.

Quietly, Holly turned the doorknob, opening the door into the room. She poked her head in through the crack and scanned the environment.

Michael was not awake.

His body lay half-obscured under the sheets, turned on his usual side and just barely snoring under his breath. He wore long sleeves, which wasn't typical for him — she wondered if he'd been cold last night, too. His face was relaxed, in complete peace, and she wanted that.

And she knew it was a bad idea, and it would give him mixed signals, because she was still angry and hurt and upset at what he'd done — and she knew it, and she knew it, and she still wanted it. She wanted to go snuggle up in his arms and bury her face in his shoulder and sleep, and maybe cry, and then maybe sleep some more.

Hesitantly, Holly approached the bed, her mind not made up but still considering the option. Even after all the arguing last night, she knew he would gladly accept her. And she knew that despite his terrible way of showing it, he was really sorry about what he'd done…

He looked so warm. He looked so loving and accepting and _warm_ , and she missed touching him and being with him. She felt helpless but to inch closer, taking a seat on the mattress beside him, just barely on the edge but still there. Her hand landed on his shoulder in featherlight touches…

His lips parted in his sleep, as if he knew it was her, and her breath caught. She felt the strong urge to lean over and just fall into him, and her body gravitated closer, and-

A _loud_ beeping filled the air all at once and Holly jolted back from the bed, literally jumping backward a few steps as Michael's alarm went off at the _impossibly-worst_ and most intuitive time. Her eyes were wide as she pressed her hand to her heart, which thumped wildly at the shock…

Then Michael stirred, and without thinking, Holly _flew_ away from the scene, racing to the bathroom door. She entered the bathroom and shut it behind her before he had ever opened his eyes — and with her heart still pounding, she marched across the linoleum to turn on the shower water, so that he would _never_ think that she was there…

Holly slumped against the wall, pressing her hands to her face in stress. She didn't like being alone with this. She didn't like being angry at him. She hated _everything_ about this.

But she had no idea of what else to do. She had no plan to follow, and the light that guided her through these situations — family, friends, love — it was all confusing to her now. She couldn't see straight.

And she felt terribly alone.

* * *

 _ **Enjoy. Let me know what you thought.**_


	68. High Up Above or Down Below

**Chapter LXVIII**

 **High Up Above or Down Below**

* * *

 _And high up above,_

 _Or down below…_

 _When you're too in love_

 _To let it go…_

\- "Fix You" by Coldplay.

* * *

Exhaustion was not one of Michael's favorite feelings, but usually, it came with some kind of benefit. Either he couldn't sleep because he was too excited about something, or he chose not to sleep because he was preoccupied with being dirty. And in both circumstances, the solution was coffee, and Michael liked coffee.

But today, he was getting sick of the taste, and it was only noon.

Last night had been one of the worst nights of sleep he'd had in a long time — which was strange, since he'd gone to bed earlier tonight than he had in weeks. But he'd tossed and turned for hours, watching the ceiling fan up above, listening to complete silence until as the night grew later, birds began to chirp, and then he knew he was facing a lost cause. He just hadn't been able to fill the empty space in the bed, no matter how many different sleeping positions he'd tried — including a few sideways and upside-down options which were no better than anything else. Ultimately, in all his experimentation, his only discovery was that he'd forgotten how to sleep alone.

It was strange, too, because in all of the seven months he'd spent sleeping next to Holly, he hadn't really realized how important it was to have her there. He needed her arms to keep him warm, and the scent of her hair to wind down his mind, and her slow, deep breaths to encourage him to relax and let the day go…

He really hoped she could forgive him today, because he didn't want to face another night like that anytime soon.

Because of this fact, Michael's initial levelheaded plan to give her space and be patient was slowly losing steam. This morning, for instance, Michael could not focus on his work at this level of sheer exhaustion, so he devoted his drowsy attention to the back of a shipping form, upon which he scrawled a tiny bullet-point list.

He was running out of ideas for it now, though.

Michael squinted at the piece of paper, ignoring the tiny stabs of pain behind his right eyebrow — and the strong desire to go lay his head in Holly's lap and let her do the acupressure stuff she learned in college — and tried to keep his mind off the total four hours of sleep he'd achieved in the past twenty-four hours…

Actually, it had been thirty hours since his last good sleep. He knew this because it was now one o'clock, and right on time, Heather released a knock on his door, inviting him to lunch. Today's knock was strangely sharp, and Michael couldn't tell if this only seemed so because of his headache, or if she was angry about something.

And then it occurred to him that this was Heather's first day back since Monday. So she had no idea about anything that had happened.

But Ginny did, and she had a tendency toward the gossip.

So Michael quickly folded up his list and tucked it away under the keyboard, in case Heather or Ginny were to enter and peek around. He stood up quickly — and in his state of sleep deprivation, this resulted in a dizzying head rush. He gave that a minute to subside before finally starting toward the door again, hastening to reach Heather before she went and talked to Holly.

He was surprised, however, when he pulled the door open and marched out into the hall — and could already hear her ranting.

" _-what a dumbass…"_

Michael frowned, and hesitantly shut the door behind him. He followed her voice down the hall to the break room.

" _He seems really sorry about it."_

" _Yeah, that's the same bullshit th-_ " Heather asked to her right, where Ginny sat on her hands, clearly regretting her decision here; but Heather's voice cut off when Michael entered the room. Her eyes locked on him at once — and he was afraid.

"Hi, Michael," Ginny mumbled, and pressed her lips together. Evidently, she had nothing more to say for herself. Michael sent her a single look of exasperation before turning back to Heather.

"Hiya, Mike," Heather agreed before lowering her voice to add, "or are you _officially_ going by 'classic-fucking-toxic-man' now?"

"Hey," Michael protested, brow furrowed. "That's just- that's a little harsh, okay? You don't even know the situation yet."

"Is it an annual award?" she kept right on, leaning on her fist. "Like the Emmys? I wanna come; what should I wear?"

" _Would_ you shut it?" he stopped her in a hushed tone. "People are gonna hear you."

"Get over here then," Heather harped. Beside her, Ginny pulled out a chair for him.

Sighing, he walked over to their table, where hopefully fewer people would be able to hear this conversation. He dropped down into his chair with an irritable thud and scooted in, muttering lowly, "Can I explain myself before you lay into me? Can I do that?"

"Save your breath. I'll sum up," Heather decided — and she plopped her elbows down on the table, her chin in her hands to give him one intense stare. " _You've_ been keeping a secret from your fiancee for months now — a secret which could majorly dick up her life — because you're a man and you get to make these decisions, right? And instead of ever telling her, you wait until her dad attacks her with a _knife_?"

"Whoa, whoa, a- no, _hey_ ," Michael said, pointing a finger at her in protest. "It was not a knife. It was a banana rack."

Heather wrinkled her brow at him, and glanced at Ginny, and back at him. "What the hell is a banana rack?"

"You use it to hang your bananas so they don't get bruised," he explained. "And it makes them stay good longer, too, so if you buy more bananas than you want-"

"Do you think this interests me?" Heather interrupted.

"Well, you asked!"

Heather was evidently not impressed by his attempt to change the subject, and she sent Ginny — the receiver of all meaningful glances — a disapproving look. She said nothing else for the moment.

Michael took this opportunity to lean forward and quietly continue, "I was the one who wanted to tell her, but her mom made me promise to butt out."

"D'you do everything her mom tells you to do?"

"And then I was gonna tell her, myself," Michael added pointedly, ignoring Heather's bitter remark, "but the longer I waited, the harder it got. That's… what she said. _Anyway-_ "

"You should have told her the second you found out," Heather insisted in exasperation. "She's a _person_. Hell, if I had someone in my life, I know I'd treat them with more respect-"

"Heather," Ginny said softly.

"Don't 'Heather' me! Stop me if you hear a lie."

"It's easy for you to _say_ what you'd do!" Michael interrupted the two, and silenced them. "It's not so easy when you're the one who has to tell her her dad is gonna be mentally _gone_ in a year."

This fact sobered the three of them, and though Heather opened her mouth to reply, she quickly retracted whatever she had to say. Michael instinctively glanced down the back hall, as if he could tell if Holly, way down at the end, had heard them talking about her. When he turned back to the table, he found Ginny and Heather doing the same thing.

After a long period of silence, Heather and Michael both staring at the table in front of them, Ginny eventually mumbled, "Is she... okay?"

Michael sighed, examining his hands to avoid eye contact. "We fought last night… like, a bunch. I'm pretty sure she hates me now."

Heather made a noise through her nose; but Ginny shook her head. "I'm sure she doesn't hate you. This is just a lot for a person to handle."

"No, she hates me," Michael repeated, nodding, and peeked up at her. "She couldn't even sleep in the same bed as me last night… and she _completely_ avoided me this morning. I didn't even get to talk to her before she left."

Just saying those words out loud made him want to crawl into bed and sleep for hours. The fact that he hadn't kissed her in twenty-four hours made him anxious — the fact that he hadn't told her he loved her today made him want to burst into her office right now and tell her, no matter how mad she was at him…

Michael pressed his hands to his face as he attempted to block out the two women watching him, and groaned. "I just miss her."

Something about this fact softened Heather's attitude, apparently, as she reached out to nudge his arm. "Chin up, Scott," she said bluntly. When he looked up at her, she rolled her eyes. "If she can't forgive you for this, there's no way your marriage would've lasted anyway."

Michael inhaled deeply, gaze lowering. "Thanks."

On his other side, Ginny added, "Just give her space. She has to sort this out in her head before she can get around to you."

"Okay," he said with a nod. "I can do that. I can wait."

"Except don't do that," Heather pointed out — and he looked up again, confused. "You should just apologize and get it out of the way."

"I've already apologized," he argued. " _Multiple_ times."

"Maybe it's _how_ you're doing it," Heather said; and she turned her chair more toward him, grabbing his full attention. "The way you do it is you get down on your knees, take her hands, summon a few tears, and apologize — and you _don't_ deflect — you take full responsibility for everything and the kitchen sink, and then you tell her you're willing to wait a hundred years for her, and boom!" She clapped her hands for emphasis. "You've got her back."

Michael blinked at her as she explained all this, and pausing for a moment, glanced between her and Ginny. "I can do that. That might work."

"That's a little manipulative," Ginny pointed out, in her usual slightly-judgmental but rarely-misguided way. "You can't just tear up and make her forgive you. That isn't fair."

"Leaving her alone until she gets lonely and caves could _also_ be considered manipulative."

"I'm not trying to manipulate her, here," Michael intervened with a hint of chastisement. " _God_. Do you have any plans that don't make me look scummy?"

"Well, you know her best, Mike," Heather decided, flipping her hands out toward him. "What does _she_ want? What's worked before?"

Michael blinked, brow furrowing. "I… flowers? I don't…"

His voice trailed off, but not because he had run out of things to say; he and Heather both looked up at the sound of someone's door opening down the hall. Ginny then noticed their expressions, and turned to look back toward the hallway. They waited in silence.

Then from the back hall appeared Hughes from the Oil and Gas Department — who had moved down from two floors up sometime recently — tall guy, shaved head, with a smile that melted the hearts of women — or so Michael had heard from Heather, who had been checking him out for a few weeks now. When the man entered the room, he noticed three pairs of eyes on him, and stopped short.

"Oh," said Hughes, from Oil and Gas — and just thinking about that title gave Michael a million jokes to make. He cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt."

"Donovan," Heather greeted, her tone quickly shifting to something more flirtatious and confident. "I leave for one day and you finally get the courage to come out here?"

 _Donovan,_ Michael noted, eyebrows raised.

"Well, I try to keep out of the way," _Donovan_ said with a halfhearted grin. "Don't wanna bother you big, fancy directors at work."

Heather smirked. "Oh, yeah. We're very busy out here. An underling like you would just be a distraction."

Michael's eyes widened at this statement, and he glanced between Heather and _Donovan_. "I… don't think you'd-"

Then _Donovan_ 's face split into a big smile, and he huffed a little laugh. And this completely baffled Michael, who was often a little oblivious to Heather's kind of flirting — but he put on a smile, as if he'd known she was joking the whole time. When _Donovan_ approached the refrigerator, he nodded at him.

"Heya, Hughes," he said briefly.

"Heya, Michael," Donovan echoed as he opened the fridge, bending over to look inside. "How's paper treating ya?"

Michael smiled to himself and muttered, "Better than _gas_."

Donovan looked back at him, evidently having heard this — and he chuckled. "Right."

Again, Michael was confused by the man's accommodation. He looked at Heather sideways, as if she could explain Donovan and his oddly-friendly attitude — but she just smiled, as though this were all quite endearing to her.

Then their exchanging of glances came to a stop as Donovan retrieved his lunch and looked over the tables, unsure of where to sit. Heather kicked a seat out for the man, and he grinned at her. He took this seat and sat in it, as if he ran the place.

Michael supposed they couldn't talk about him and Holly anymore, now, so he cleared his throat and asked, "How's, uh- how's gas treating you, Hughes?"

Donovan raised an eyebrow at him, and shrugged. "Well, I think I'm doing pretty well — but I try not to get a _bloated_ head, right?"

Heather and Ginny both laughed — and that was possibly the most annoying moment of his already-annoying day.

* * *

 _ **I don't even remember what Donovan was for but whatever here's a chapter of this story.**_


	69. Open Up Next to You

**Chapter LXIX**

 **Open Up Next to You**

* * *

 _Open up next to you,_

 _And my secrets become your truth;_

 _And the distance between that was sheltering me_

 _Comes in full view…_

\- "Breathe Again" by Sara Bareilles.

* * *

It was not common that Holly wanted to cook — and when she did, she made light, healthy meals which would not weigh on her conscience after she'd eaten them. A childhood full of strictly healthy meals had conditioned her to it. Only when Michael made dinner decisions did she ever indulge in the sugar and the butter and the carbohydrates…

But she wanted pink pasta.

She'd been thinking about her dad a lot, obviously, so the York mints and the ice cream had been calling to her — and she'd even watched tennis last night when she couldn't fall asleep — but _nothing_ had weighed harder on her mind than the memory of pink pasta. It had been her and her father's favorite dish to make, and she hadn't eaten it since college.

So she'd asked Michael to pick up a few spices on his way home from work; and having beaten him to the apartment, she was now faced with the first directions of the recipe.

 _One onion, diced._

Dad usually did this part, but since she was alone right now, Holly had found a suitable knife and one of the three onions under the counter, and a cutting board — and she now sat at the counter, staring at it in anticipation. Her eyes drooped over the board already, and it was only six o'clock.

Holly didn't know what she was going to do tonight.

She'd managed to distract herself with work and thoughts of her dad and childhood memories and cooking dinner, but now that she was in the apartment, with her pillow and blanket still on the couch behind her, she had to wonder if she was ready yet. After all their fighting last night, and the arguments they'd probably have tonight, Holly was scared. She didn't know what she wanted to do.

She wanted Michael. But she wanted her dad. But she wanted to _sleep_.

She wanted pink pasta.

Unfortunately, until Michael came back with the other ingredients, all Holly could do was chop this onion. That was simple enough.

So Holly began to cut the onion slowly — and as soon as she made the first slice, she instinctively stuck her tongue out, without even thinking about the action. When she noticed, she stopped.

Then she remembered that it had been one of Dad's rules.

Growing up, Dad hadn't really let her use a knife — even though it was crucial to cooking, he insisted on handling the big cutlery, unless she did it behind his back — because he didn't want her losing an appendage. But whenever he'd cut onions, Holly, as a child, would hop up on the counter and try to make herself cry.

But her father never cried while cutting onions, and she'd asked him how he did it. So he told her that if she followed three rules, she would never cry while cutting onions.

 _Number one: chill the onion._

This one, she hadn't had time to do, since the pasta was a bit of a snap decision.

 _Number two: stick your tongue out._

Holly didn't know how this one helped, but it did.

 _Number three: don't get emotionally attached._

That one, Holly realized once she was older, was a joke.

So Holly, a creature of habit, stuck her tongue back out as she resumed her chopping. She was sure she looked silly, as she probably had when she was younger, but no one was there to see. She just chopped away, eyes only slightly stinging, heart only slightly sad.

She had to wonder how he was doing.

Holly knew that the odds were, Dad didn't even remember their confrontation. She assumed that if anything health-related were bad, her mom would have called Michael or found some way to get in touch with Holly. In a sense, Holly knew her dad was fine.

But in a much realer sense, she wanted to _know_ he was fine.

Her phone was sitting right across the counter…

She couldn't help herself. Holly dropped the knife again and reached over for her phone, unlocking it. She opened her text messages, and clicked on her mom, already wondering how she would ask her without seeming…

Then she hesitated, for a second, as her eyes were automatically drawn up to the texts her mother had been sending her. She'd ignored them all, and eventually, her mom had stopped texting — so none of them were new. But she scrolled through them anyway, just out of curiosity.

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Holly, please, answer the phone. I need to make sure you're all right. You can't ignore your mother._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _I need to explain some things to you before you get all bent out of shape._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _I called Michael and he says you're not talking to him. Are you seriously ignoring both of us?_

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Answer me, please._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _I'm sorry I lied to you. If your father could be more aware of the situation, he wouldn't have wanted you to know, either. He would have wanted everything to stay normal for as long as it could._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Come on, honey. You can't just go through this alone._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _At least talk to Michael. This wasn't his decision._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _I backed him into a corner when I wouldn't do what -I- was supposed to do, so if you could just talk to one of us, at least…_

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Your dad doesn't remember anything about it. He misses you, though._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _We both miss you._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Please don't hate me, baby girl. You're all we have._

That was where it ended.

And Holly supposed she'd forgotten the rules, because she was tearing up.

Crying for probably the third time today, Holly turned the phone off, tossing it across the counter carelessly. She let out a big sigh as she was now left to face this stupid onion, which she hadn't even diced yet — and it was already making her eyes burn behind the tears. How had she spent ten minutes without finishing the onion?

She wished her dad was here to do it.

She wished her dad-

The front door opened, causing Holly to jolt and drop the knife again — barely missing her finger, to her relief. She anxiously blinked back the tears, and kept her head low so that Michael wouldn't notice that she had been crying.

"I got the _bazzle_ ," Michael announced, in his Gordon Ramsay voice. Plastic bags crinkled as he entered the kitchen and tossed the door shut behind him. "And I wasn't sure how big a can of tomatoes you wanted, so I got two big ones and two _leetle_ ones."

Holly nodded, eyes set on the onion in front of her. "Thank you."

"So I still have no idea what you're making," Michael said with a shrug. "But I like surprises, so… Are you crying?"

It seemed that Holly was not very good at hiding it.

She sniffed, then, raising her head to meet his eyes. "Uh, the onion," she explained — and her gaze stalled on his face as she realized how close he was now. He was just a counter away from being kissed at this point… but she cleared her throat. "I guess I got emotionally attached."

This had no meaning for Michael, but he chuckled, as if it made sense. "All right, well… Is there anything, you know, I can… or do you just wanna solo it? Either way works," he said quickly, and put on a smile. "It'd probably… taste better, actually, if you did it by yourself, but if you want a soup chef, I'm… up for the task."

 _A soup chef_ , Holly thought, and gave a small smile.

She cleared her throat again and looked up. "Could you dice this onion for me?"

The question seemed to relieve Michael, who bobbed his head. "Sure! Yeah, I can do that."

"And I'll mince the garlic," Holly said, peeking over his shoulder at the grocery bags on the other end of the counter. "Can you-"

"Yup," he said as he handed her one of the plastic bags.

Holly accepted it gratefully, digging in to find the fresh garlic in a little bag at the bottom. As she tore the bag open, she observed while Michael crossed the kitchen to the sink, to wash his hands. That was a rule she'd impressed upon him during their first time dating — to always, _always_ wash his hands before touching _any_ food. And it was a good rule, too, because it usually afforded her a nice view from behind…

She turned her focus back to the garlic.

Once he was finished, Michael pulled out a cutting board and a knife, and brought them over to the counter again. "All righty," he mumbled, setting up the cutting board where he stood on the opposite side of the bar.

"C'mere," Holly said, without thinking about it — and she tapped the barstool beside her for emphasis.

Michael was surprised that she invited him over, but Holly wasn't going to make him stand. After all, he'd walked all the way through the grocery store for her. It was the least she could do.

So he smiled shyly and set down his knife, rounding the counter to meet her. She pulled out a seat for him, and he took it, a comfortable few inches away from her but still quite close. Holly had to catch her breath at first.

"Chopping onions," Michael said, settling into his seat. He raised his knife in front of him, examining it for a moment — and added, "Bork! Bork! Bork!" in a surprisingly-talented Swedish Chef impersonation.

Holly was caught off-guard and had to laugh. Michael chuckled with her, and smiled at her, in a way that even when she looked away, she could feel its warmth on her.

"Dorny flurbadoo bah the banana nananana, nana," Holly said after a pause, referencing one of her favorite _Muppets_ episodes.

Michael just laughed at her, until that adorable squeak showed up in his voice, and then Holly had no choice but to laugh. She peeked over at him with a grin — and with her attention on him, Michael straightened up, and added, "Florgy bur badur badur! Banananana bur bedur!"

Holly giggled at him, leaning over in laughter. Michael turned to her, as if it were her turn, so Holly took her knife and waved it artistically. "Florgy bur da chop-chop! _Boo_ banananana chop-chop a banana nana!"

" _Into_ dee pot!" Michael exclaimed, and Holly burst into giggles at the way his voice cracked — and his _accent_ had her doubled over, beaming from ear-to-ear…

"We need to watch that again," Holly said through a grin as she turned back to the garlic at her fingertips.

"All of 'em," he agreed quietly, smiling to himself.

She nodded in silent agreement, and finally began to mince the garlic — eyes still a little damp, but mainly from laughing. That had been a sudden change.

Beside her, Michael grew quiet as he chopped, as if preoccupied with his own thoughts. Holly glanced over at him and found that his eyes were already slightly pink from the onion chemicals, but beyond that, he also looked a bit sad, as if he wished the moment hadn't ended.

So without looking at him, she said softly, "We're making pink pasta, by the way."

Michael's eyebrows raised in her peripheral vision. "Ooh, yum. What's pink pasta?"

Holly smiled. "It's just something me and my dad used to make when I was a kid. It was my favorite meal growing up. I haven't had it in a while, though."

"Oh," he said in realization, and inhaled as if to add something — but he stopped himself. Holly wondered why.

So as she minced, Holly decidedly continued to fill the silence. "It was the first time my dad taught me how to saute, even though he was nervous I would burn myself on the oil. He'd make me wear these huge oven mitts with frills on the wrists, and they were so thick that I couldn't hold anything right and I'd make a huge mess."

"Aww," Michael said, chuckling as he chopped. "That's sweet. He was protective of you."

"Of my fingers, at least," Holly pointed out.

"And it's a good thing he was," Michael added, nodding to himself. "You have cute little fingers."

Holly smiled at that, looking over her fingers as she finished off the garlic. "He just never wanted me to get hurt."

And the conversation came to an abrupt halt, because the reminder of her last encounter with her father was enough to ruin the happy memories, even if only for a minute.

Eventually, Michael's hand came to rest on hers — and Holly didn't pull away, or even react, because she liked it there. It felt nice, having him there.

"I love you," he said lowly, and genuinely, in a way that made her feel safe and simultaneously exposed. And his hand squeezed hers, and it sent butterflies through her lungs…

Her downcast expression softened. She turned her palm over, wiggling her fingers between his; and she whispered a bit hoarsely, "I love you, too."

Michael's mouth twitched, and his lips parted — and all Holly wanted to do was kiss him, and she bit her lip, trying to…

Her eyes drifted down to the cutting board in front of him, though, finding that he had finished dicing the onion. So she inhaled sharply and muttered, "I'm gonna go put these on."

His face fell, but he nodded understandingly and handed her the cutting board.

* * *

 _ **Sorry for slow updates, dealing with some shit with my parents, blah blah. Just gonna put these up without editing. Yeet.**_

 _ **Also... 69.**_


	70. I'm a Fool for Waiting So Long

**Chapter LXX**

 **I'm a Fool for Waiting So Long**

* * *

 _I could lie to you all my days;_

 _But you're the one — you're the one._

 _And I'm a fool, for waiting so long_

 _To let you know…_

\- "Come Around" by Rosi Golan.

* * *

"You can't go over there."

But Michael really, _really_ wanted to go over there.

He'd considered it from every angle now — as he'd had plenty of time to do, having accomplished little-to-no work in the past two days, and even less sleep. All he'd done was think about this, and the conclusion was that he couldn't keep waiting. He _had_ to do something.

"But I just-"

"One bad move and you'll lose your job," Ginny insisted in a hushed tone.

She was possibly correct, but he didn't care.

Michael sat in the break room at the moment, though his mind was somewhere else by far; and beside him, Ginny, and beside her, Heather. At another table sat Zach — the very reason Michael had to fear for his job — and Hughes, who had dared to have lunch with everyone else once again. No one else haunted the tables, though it was at the strike of 12:30 P.M. Some people would come and go, but Holly had yet to make an appearance, and Michael knew that she wouldn't come out until he left.

Ginny told him that this separation was better for their situation. Heather disagreed wholeheartedly, but Ginny was still adamant that Michael should give Holly space to work this out on her own if she so desired. Meanwhile, Heather advised that he basically swarm her with gifts and apologies until she had no choice but to forgive him.

He didn't like either of these ideas.

"It's not fair," Heather muttered as she slumped back over her soda.

Michael nodded in agreement, huffing a breath.

"You earned this," Ginny reminded her, and leaned on her elbow. "You're the one who attacked him."

"I know, but he can't just hold him _hostage_ ," Heather said scornfully. She afforded one more sneak peek over at the table, with a look of exasperation in her eyes, and sighed. "He's doing it on purpose. He doesn't want me to talk to him."

"He can't keep you from seeing him outside of work, though," Ginny said — and she glanced at Michael, as if expecting him to agree. Michael quickly added a hum of support, but it was a glum hum.

"I should just go over there," Heather decided, and straightened up-

" _No_ ," Ginny commanded, grabbing Heather's forearm. "You're gonna say something stupid to Zach and he's gonna use it to get you fired! Sit _down_."

They hadn't slept in the same bed in two days.

He'd thought the first night would be all it took for them both to gain perspective and fix things — and last night, they'd cooked together and talked about her dad, and Michael was already prepared to cuddle up with her and sleep early like elderly people. He hadn't expected her to still be this hurt.

He'd taken the couch last night, though, and his back felt as if a tribal man had poked his back with spears all night.

That image could have resulted from falling asleep in the middle of _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom_. But it really did feel like that.

"You're Zach's friend. Couldn't you just distract him for a minute while I go make sweet conversational love to Donovan?"

"The fact that I'm Zach's friend is the reason why I'm not getting involved between you two," Ginny said matter-of-factly.

"But you're my friend, too," Heather said, mock-frowning. "Don't you love me?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at her. "You're not the best friend in the world, you know. Have you even asked me how my day was?"

"Fine. How was your day?"

"Good."

Heather's mouth opened, and she cocked her head at Ginny. "That's it? That's what you needed so desperately to get off your chest?"

"I… can give you more, if you want."

"Well, if I'm already investing my time in it, yeah!"

Michael didn't see why Heather shouldn't just go over and say what she was feeling. Matters of the heart were more important than work rules; and if she loved Donovan, if she _really loved_ Donovan with all her heart, she wouldn't just let him be alone. That would be the opposite of love. Even if Heather had hurt Donovan, they should love each other enough to just push past it.

Screw Zach. Love came before work every time, everywhere.

"Okay… Oh, so Lex is dating that waiter from the bar," Ginny remembered, an eyebrow raised. "I woke up this morning and ran into him in the kitchen. In his underwear, so that was interesting."

"Which waiter? We had at least three."

He wasn't going to listen to Heather or Ginny, except in the one suggestion they'd both given — which was that since Michael knew Holly best, he should do what his heart told him to do. So he was going to do just that, right now.

"Whichever one she called Noah all evening," Ginny said eventually. "Even though that wasn't his name…"

Heather considered this for a moment, and then snapped her fingers. "Because 'her whole land was gonna flood for him'. I remember now."

Michael stood up from the table abruptly, as he officially had no more investment in this conversation, and shoved his chair back in behind him. The sudden shift caught the attention of everyone at their table, and only them, fortunately. Heather wrinkled her eyebrows.

"Are we not interesting enough for you?"

"I need to handle something with H.R.," Michael announced, not waiting long enough for either of them to realize what this meant or how this would look. He rounded the table and headed into the hallway.

"Michael-"

"You shouldn't barge in at lunchtime," Ginny said, scolding him in a way that Donovan and Zach, who now noticed the exchange, would only recognize as work-related. "I can make you an appointment with her. Wouldn't that be _better_?"

"This can't wait," Michael said, and continued on his way, rounding the corner to the back hall. He didn't slow down at any point until he reached the far end of the hallway, where he knew Holly would be hiding behind her door — probably looking as tired as she had yesterday, and still trying to get work done — probably still just as devastated as yesterday, but still facing it alone.

He wasn't gonna wait anymore, because he knew it wasn't what she wanted — he knew _her_. He may not have known her the longest of anyone, but he knew her the deepest, and he knew her the most intimately, and he knew her the best.

Michael knocked on the door, without announcing himself, and anxiously waited for a response. He hoped she wouldn't ask who it was. He hoped she wouldn't turn him away again.

" _Come in!"_

Chest deflating in relief, Michael ignored the warnings of Heather and Ginny and even the suspicion in Zach's eyes as he'd passed by. Michael opened the door, slowly as he tried to contain his eagerness. He peeked his head in to see her first.

And there she was — looking at him.

Holly sat at her desk in a familiar blouse, with her hands withdrawing from the keyboard to fold in front of her, chin tilted up in anticipation of her visitor. Her eyes, set on him now, were visibly tired, and still colored dark, as if he'd caught her in the middle of some sad thought.

Her eyes, set on him now, became visibly afraid — and not of him, but of his seeing her.

But she didn't have to be afraid of Michael seeing her.

He already knew her, mind and body, such that she could never be unflatteringly exposed to him. He knew every inch of her skin, down to the freckle beside her bellybutton and the birthmark along her ribcage; he knew the darkest features of her past, and her sincerest regrets. He knew her fears, almost too well now, and her insecurities, and her desires, and the secrets she'd wanted to keep from him out of shame — and he loved her for every inch of what she was worth. He _knew_ her.

"You shouldn't be in here," Holly reminded him, softly. But she didn't seem to want him to leave.

And there was something else Michael knew — and it was important now, because in this situation, where everything was muddled and neither of them knew what to do, this thing that he knew — it was _concrete_. And he knew it from experience, because he'd learned it early on. In fact, it drew all the way back to the moment their romantic relationship had begun.

Michael's life hadn't made much sense, even a few years ago, because he'd chosen to over-complicate it. He'd gotten himself involved with Jan, _again_ , when she was pregnant with an artificial baby — and so he'd started treating his friends badly, and throwing everything away for some vain hope that he could be a father to this random guy's sperm baby. And in the middle of all that, he met Holly.

"I needed to see you," Michael admitted, with a very shallow, very nervous breath.

Their relationship had been short-lived then, but there had been a moment during that time which defined his life for him. Because in all that emotional swirling chaos, and the loss of potential fatherhood, and everything that didn't make sense, Michael had found the courage to go up to Holly's desk and just… hold her.

And then everything made sense.

"Michael…"

Michael marched across her office floor, then, and watched her eyes go round as he closed the distance between them — and his arms reached out, and she did not shrink away — she leaned right into him so that he caught her faster than he'd expected, and he ran into her — but he didn't mind. He threw his arms around her, squeezing her tight to his chest, and he buried his head in her shoulder, and gripped the back of her familiar blouse tightly between his fingers…

And for a moment, he feared, because she stood in shock, and did not reciprocate. So he just kept holding onto her, for dear life, and just tried to soak it in — the feeling of having her here, with him, and…

There it was.

Her hands inched up his back, gingerly at first, and then all at once stretching their grasp over his shoulder blades. And then her whole body sighed, and her chin lowered to his shoulder — and she pulled him tighter into her arms, and sniffed, and the world was still for a moment.

And there was clarity.

And Michael's heart began to pound, as his arms stretched as far as they could to completely engulf her. Her head tilted down to hide in his shirt, and she sniffed, and her legs inched up between his, and she sniffed, and she sniffed again, and-

"I'm sorry," Michael breathed, almost involuntarily. He turned his head so she could hear him and caught his breath. "I should have told you, and I should have been there for you, and…"

Holly's breath hiccuped, and he realized she was already crying — and Michael's heart dropped. He tightened his grip on her, and when he did, he could feel her heart racing, and her chest rising irregularly with her small breaths, which became sharp breaths, which became _gasping_ breaths…

And then she pressed her mouth hard into his shoulder, as she obviously tried to keep herself quiet — and that brought stinging tears to the corners of his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice a little hoarse now. "I'm so, so sorry, I'm _so_ sorry…"

Holly gasped, and Michael's whole body jolted. He turned his head so he could kiss her neck, as though the little tiny comfort might stop her from feeling this — because he didn't want her to feel this — _feeling_ this pain was the reason he hadn't wanted to tell her, and now he just wanted to crumble.

"I'm scared," Holly finally spoke, in a weak voice, thick with tears. She caught another breath and whispered, "I thought I had time; I thought I had a plan…"

"I know," he muttered tearfully, and kissed her hair, trying to soothe this out of her…

"And I pushed you away and I didn't _want_ to push you away," Holly said, voice trembling. "And I yelled at you and blamed you and…"

"It's okay," Michael cut her off with a small smile of relief — and then he pulled back just enough to look at her, hands coming up to push her hair out of her face. She looked up at him with shiny eyes to match his own, and frowned. "I'm not mad at you."

Holly sniffed, reaching up to wipe a tear off her nose, and muttered, "I'm not mad at you, either — not anymore."

And it took him a moment to register this information, but he did.

"Really?" he breathed, and his hands pulled her hair back, cradling her face. She nodded quickly. "You promise?"

"I promise," she said, blinking furiously, but managed to brighten her expression just slightly. Her gaze bounced between both of his eyes, one at a time, slowly, for a long moment… until it lowered to his lips fleetingly. She sniffed.

Michael opened his mouth to ask her if he could kiss her; but she didn't give him enough time. Her eyes softened on him for one instant before they closed as she stretched up to kiss him — in such a way that he expected something gentle and chaste, but was surprised by a great deal of force as she took him by the collar and drew him deeper into her mouth. Michael's eyes squeezed shut instinctively, and his hands, still resting on her face, tilted her chin up to his…

He sighed in the greatest sense of peace, and yet, the anxiety which had built up over forty-eight hours of being apart from her now rose into his still-damp cheeks, and he fell over her mouth, kissing her and feeling every bite-mark she'd left on her lips, tasting every trace of her Hershey's Kisses chapstick — and he reveled in the feeling of her wet eyelashes fluttering against his skin, and her fingertips sneaking into the collar of his shirt, and her tongue retreating from his mouth as she pulled back, and took all the air out of his lungs-

"You need to go," Holly whispered, voice strained from both tears and desire — and she sniffed. "They're gonna-"

"I don't care," Michael admitted with a shrug.

Holly was about to continue speaking, but this reaction stopped her. She blinked, mouth closing, without a word of argument or agreement.

Then her lips parted, and she rose up to kiss him again.

* * *

 _ **First act of my birthday was to publish this chapter. Enjoy, thanks for reading bbs.**_


	71. Ready to Lay in Your Arms

**Chapter LXXI**

 **Ready to Lay in Your Arms**

* * *

 _Hold on…_

 _A couple more hours, and I'll be home,_

 _Ready to lay in your arms, don't_

 _Change your mind..._

\- "The End of the Day" by Nashville Cast.

* * *

When Holly had come into work this morning, she'd expected to pass out sometime after lunch. Having gone two days without half a full night's sleep, there was simply no more energy left — there was nothing in the reserves, physically or emotionally. She'd barely made it through the elevator ride before her legs ached to sit again. So logically, by five o'clock, she should have been dead.

Instead, she was taking the stairs.

It wasn't her first choice, obviously, since she was still tired and sore from tossing and turning all night — but somewhere deep inside her, a well burst forth, and ushered a second wind which prompted her to forgo the elevator crowds and sprint down the stairwell as though she were being chased.

She wasn't being chased, to be clear. She was in a race.

Michael had managed to pack up and beat everyone else for an elevator, so that by now, he was probably already exiting the building. So Holly took the stairs two-by-two in all her eagerness to meet him outside, because she _missed_ him.

They'd kissed and made up only four hours ago, of course, but that just made her miss him even more.

She and Michael had never fought longer than a day in their entire history, and now that they had, Holly intended for it to never happen again. Even in the knowledge that Michael had made a pretty bad mistake, Holly knew that it had come from a place of love. Staying angry at him for so long had been her own mistake, which had come from a place of grieving. She could see that now.

She'd thought about this entire situation in the hours spent alone since they'd made up, and she'd realized that most of her anger was, on the basest, rawest level, directed toward her mother — and her relationship with Mom would be a lot more difficult to reconcile. Michael had betrayed her trust for a couple of months. Her mom had lied to her for years.

And while part of her wanted to get it out of the way and make up with her parents, another much more appealing part of her wanted to go out of town for a few days. Logic pointed to resolution; but grief pointed to distraction, and ice cream, and making love to Michael tonight, followed by cuddling and a nice, long sleep…

These images were the reasons why, when Holly hit the last step in the stairwell, she took off in as inconspicuous a jog as possible, into the lobby and toward the front doors. Behind her, an elevator dinged, releasing another wave of strangers from a different floor. Holly didn't see Michael anywhere, so she assumed he had already gone out to the car.

It occurred to her now that they had driven two cars today, so they would have to ride home separately — and that was disappointing. But she didn't mind, as long as she could catch him before he left…

Holly burst through the front doors, eyes already scanning the parking lot for Michael's car — or rather, her mother's car — they still hadn't purchased a vehicle of their own — and damn, Holly hated to owe one more thing to her mother. It was like the woman was everywhere, following her, digging her nails into her so that she was _stuck_ …

Her phone buzzed, and Holly instantly pulled it out of her pocket. She checked over her shoulder in case anyone was there, and turned the screen on.

 _ **Mike Wazowski 3**_

 _Im parked around the curb by the way_

Holly felt a tiny grin sneaking up on her face. She turned the phone off and took off through the parking lot, heading for the curb.

On the way, though, Holly was reminded to slow herself down, as she passed by a familiar car and spotted Cheri from Paper Processing two floors down. And she waved, and Cheri waved back — a nice older lady, with a tendency to come into work while she was sick, but overall a kind person. And then as Holly reached the curb, she nearly ran into the blond man from the Reclamation Department on the twelfth floor — she believed his name was Evin. And then there was a recognizable face from the janitorial apartment, who was just driving into the lot, and…

She hadn't realized just how many people here she'd come to meet after only four days of working there.

And she just really liked this work environment, much better than most places she'd worked before.

Once she'd rounded the curb, Holly did not at first see his car. She knew that he typically parked in the lot diagonal from the DNR, but that lot was empty at the moment, and — but then she saw the shiny silver hood peeking out from a clever hiding place behind a tree, and she smiled at his sneakiness.

Holly had made it most of the way across the road before Michael stepped into view — having been obscured by the car, but now visible as he stood by the driver's side, eyes glued to his phone. Her pace quickened and she nearly tripped over the sidewalk from haste, but she regained her balance and marched up the mulch to the nearly-empty parking lot.

It was when Michael saw _her_ that his eyes lit up, and he started toward her with a grin. "Hey."

"Hi," Holly greeted smilingly, as they met a few feet from the car. She reached out for his hands, and he gave them to her, and drew her in for a quick kiss. Or it was intended to be quick, but they both rebelled against that...

After a moment, Holly forced herself to withdraw, and a sigh escaped her lips as she did. "I _missed_ you," she mumbled lowly, biting her lip.

"I missed you more," Michael said with every confidence. The backs of his hands roamed up and down her sides affectionately, even as they spoke — and his eyes were locked on her in such a silent adoration that Holly could feel her cheeks burning under the contact — but even so, he couldn't have missed her more. She had missed him way, _way_ more.

Then Michael moved in for her lips again, and Holly had been about to say something, but she sighed it away, letting him kiss her and kiss her again, marking out moment after moment in which she'd wanted to kiss him but hadn't allowed herself. She opened her mouth more, and he let out one deep sigh in between her lips, which sent her knees to weakening — and losing her balance, she hooked her fingers under his belt to keep her steady. Her mind grew feverish as she ignored the sound of cars passing behind them, where they stood behind the tree in the parking lot, where anyone might see them making out, might hear her as he drew a shallow, high-pitched breath out of her…

And then he slipped away, and her shoulders sank as the tension broke. His lips instead moved to one of her flushed cheeks, brushing a gentle kiss there — and then moving over to her other cheek to drop another kiss. Her eyes fell to a close, sleepily fluttering her eyelashes against his nose. As he inched up to kiss her forehead, Holly reached her hands into his jacket and began to untuck his shirt so that she could slip her fingers up onto his back…

"Are you hungry?" Michael asked, breaking the silence. Holly's eyes barely opened, so sleepy and so caught up in his lips on her skin that she had become quite relaxed. "Or do you wanna just go home and…" He raised his eyebrows to fill in the blank.

Holly smiled, muttering, "I had a late lunch, so…"

Michael's expression lifted at that. "So…"

"So I'll go get the other car," she decided, and stretched up to steal a kiss before she would have to go. Then she stepped back to turn away — but Michael's hand caught around her waist.

"Wait," he said instantly, stopping her before she could leave. His expression shifted to something more serious; and he exhaled nervously. "I wanted to talk about something."

Holly blinked in confusion, but turned back to him. "Oh. Okay," she said, nodding.

But apparently, it wasn't this simple, because as soon as she'd given him the permission to go ahead, he was hesitant. His eyes lowered for a moment — not to her lips, and not all the way down to her chest, but somewhere in the middle — somewhere deep in thought and not anywhere on her body. Then she knew he was serious.

"Is something wrong?" she asked nervously.

"Nah, it's not-" he started, and had to clear his throat then.

Holly's stomach dropped at the sound, and now, she was scared. She reached up to his collar, fingers brushing over his skin there encouragingly.

"I've been thinking about this all day," Michael finally began, looking up into her eyes. "Because I realized that when I was apologizing for keeping this whole thing secret, that I wasn't… apologizing for keeping _other_ things secret."

Holly wrinkled her forehead. "What other things?"

Sensing the concern in her tone, his eyes widened. "Nothing big! No, but I… I realized I've been keeping a lot of things from you, just because… with other women that I've dated, I've never been able to be honest with them, you know?"

"I know," she said, nodding understandingly. "I've kept things from you, too."

"So I decided I'm just gonna be honest with you," Michael continued with a shrug. "About everything, from now on."

Holly's eyebrows rose at this, although a smile crept onto her face. She blinked at him. "Okay."

"So, um…" he said — and he took a big, deep breath, filling his chest up with air as he tentatively looked down again. "So I… sometimes use your shampoo."

This wasn't what Holly was expecting.

"What?" she asked, blinking.

"I know I have my own," he said right away, as if she'd asked. "But women's shampoo smells so _good_ , and why do they market it to women, anyway? Why can't men have nice things?"

Holly just chuckled, both amused and relieved that _these_ were the secrets he had been keeping. "I don't know," she said, grinning, and cocked her head at him. "Is that it? Honey."

"No, that's not all, though," he assured her with a small smile, and cleared his throat. "There's also — I mean, there's un-fun things I'd have to tell you, too. Like… I think that your… Hagrid impression could use some work, but I say that with _love_ -"

"Hey!" Holly protested, giving his chest a light shove. "It's _good_."

"It's okay," Michael said, half-grinning…

"It's more than okay!" Holly insisted, and straightened her expression. "' _I shouldn't have said that. I should_ _ **not**_ _have_ _ **said**_ _that.'_ "

"It sounds too American."

"You try, then!"

"' _Harry!'_ " Michael shouted gruffly-

"Shh!"

"' _Where're y' goin', Harry?'_ " he said at a slightly lower volume, in a _strong_ accent. He nodded at her. "Right? Wasn't that better?"

"Almost unintelligible," Holly said between giggles.

"Well, no one said Hagrid was the smartest guy in Hogwarts, so…" Michael said, clearly having misunderstood — and his smile sobered for a moment. "But stuff like that, that you might not like — I'm gonna try to start telling you those things, so just… be patient with me. I wanna be better."

Holly's expression softened; she smiled. "I do, too."

At that, his shoulders untensed, his hands settling down on her hips again. "Okay," he said, nodding. "All right. So can I… be honest about one more thing?"

"Sure," she said, a contented whisper.

So Michael leaned in a bit, voice lowering as he passed her face and whispered into her ear.

To amend: he whispered something quite dirty into her ear.

Holly swallowed, and nodded quickly. "Okay, so let's-"

"Let's go home," Michael decided.

"Yes."

"Quickly. Like, speed a little bit."

"Maybe a little."

* * *

 _ **Finishing school this week so updates will be more frequent again. Thanks for reading and birthday wishes :)**_


	72. Jump in the Cold Water

**Chapter LXXII**

 **Jump in the Cold Water**

* * *

 _I need to be bold,_

 _Need to jump in the cold water,_

 _Need to grow older with a girl like you._

\- "I'd Rather Be With You" by Joshua Radin.

* * *

"All righty, almost done," Michael muttered as his eyes remained locked in complete focus, one hand holding her still while the other finished the work quietly and painstakingly. "Just a few finishing touches…"

"You did it so fast," Holly remarked. When he peeked up at her, he found she was still smiling, eyes closed. Either he was tickling her or she was still just as amused and horrified about this as she'd been at the beginning.

Michael narrowed his eyes as he focused on the edges of the lines, and tilted his head. "Well, I'm inspired. This has been my dream ever since I met you."

"Oh, really?" she challenged, chuckling but sounding incredulous. "So since the first day I've known you, this is all you've been thinking about?"

"Of course, not," he mumbled, though he had to grin at the thought. "It was always there, though — an impulse A weird, maybe sexy impulse…"

Holly giggled. "This is _not_ sexy."

"Well, you haven't seen it in action," Michael reminded her, and then leaned back to admire his work from a broader angle. And he saw that it was _good_.

"Can I open my eyes?"

"Please," he said, giddily inching back to watch for her reaction. She smiled as she opened her eyes, and her head lowered… and the moment when she saw it was beautiful.

Alvin the Chipmunk was between her breasts.

I will clarify that a drawing of Alvin the Chipmunk adorned the cleavage of Holly Flax.

This had been Michael's dream.

"This was your dream?" Holly asked, obviously along the same line of thinking as she tried to make sense of the large chipmunk cheeks drawn on the edges of her breasts. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Ever since we met?"

Michael began to wonder if this had not been his best use of a dare.

There were better uses, definitely. When they'd first started playing Truth or Dare, Michael had taken a few truth questions as a means of advancing his new "honesty-to-a-fault" policy. Then after a few questions, Michael had asked for a dare, just for grins.

They had wound up here, naked in bed together — originally basking in the afterglow of some amazing make-up sex, as they did — when then, Holly had asked for a dare.

She'd probably wanted to have more sex. What was he thinking?

"I've… had other dreams," Michael said, trying to excuse himself from this now as it seemed to have struck her as weird. "Do you want to hear about… those or-"

Holly just started giggling, in an adorable and strange and unexpected way. Michael almost couldn't believe his eyes or ears — because if he'd ever drawn a chipmunk face in Carol's cleavage or Helene's cleavage, or Jan's cleavage, if he could have managed to stuff something in there, he would have been kicked out of bed. And Holly was laughing. She was tickled.

"Where do you go in your mind to think of these _things_?" Holly asked between chuckles, voice higher now that she spoke through a wide grin.

Michael, stunned, learned to laugh with her. "I… don't know. I remember talking to Pam about your boobs and then thinking, hey, I could probably draw a chipmunk-"

Holly's laughter only grew louder as she shook her head, eyes shut. "I don't…" she began, but continued to giggle. Michael giggled at her giggling — and then, when she opened her eyes, he beamed at her. " _Tell_ me you didn't tell her that."

"No, I didn't," he said, smiling — and he then scooted up beside her again, wrapping his arms around her from the side so he could pull her back against the pillows. She instantly leaned into him, and let him kiss her cheek. "That dream was just for me."

She grinned warmly at him, and followed him down as they settled back into a half-sitting position. Snuggling into his embrace, she looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "What else have you _always_ wanted to do?"

"That sounds like a Truth to me," Michael pointed out as he leaned down to kiss her neck.

Meanwhile, Holly tugged the covers up to cover her chest and exhaled deeply. "Truth or Dare?"

And while he considered picking Dare just to mess with her, he decided he'd already stretched her enough with Alvin, so he parted from her neck and whispered, "Truth."

"What's another one of your secret dreams?" she asked, and placed a kiss on his temple.

Michael considered this, during which he turned mostly over his side and propped himself up on his elbow, just to look at her as he thought this over. "Well… I always wanted to mix every Kool-Aid flavor in existence to make a Super Kool-Aid, but my mom never let me."

"Whoa," Holly said, after only a second's consideration. "That's ambitious."

"Well, I was a big thinker," Michael admitted with a shrug, and tilted his head at her. Her fingers tickled at his abdomen under the sheets, which brought a smile to his face.

"We could do it," she offered a moment later, her voice soft. "This weekend — we could hit a bunch of grocery stores until we find enough and try it out."

Michael scrunched his face up, and chuckled. "Really? What would that even taste like?"

"A sensory experience like no other," Holly supplied, raising her eyebrows. She lowered her chin in challenge, waiting for his response — but Michael took a moment to appreciate the cuteness of her face in this moment, before saying a thing.

Then a lightbulb went off in his head, and Michael added, "We could make popsicles."

Holly's jaw dropped, and he could see from her eyes that this was a good suggestion.

"Genius," Holly decided, throwing her hand up from under her head, smiling at him. "I will add popsicle trays to the list."

"Also extra sugar," Michael said, and reached for her hip to rein her in a little closer. "I like more sugar than the packets call for. It's very important."

"Oh, I can give you sugar," Holly muttered out of nowhere, with a straight face.

Michael's eyes widened, and his mouth inched into a wide grin. He lowered his chin suggestively. " _Oh_. Okay."

"Okay," Holly agreed, nodding slightly. She bit her lip. "Did I surprise you?"

"A little bit," he said as he leaned in closer to her without hesitation. "Nothing I can't recover from, though."

"Of course."

And she closed her eyes just an instant before he did, and her lips smiled against his when he landed that first kiss, while his hand gripped her bare hip a bit more firmly. Holly's fingers inched up his side to a comfortable place, her mouth drawing him out further. Michael's tongue brushed against the edges of her lips, which prompted her to let out a hum of happiness — and he smiled again, eyes peeking open for only a second before he relaxed once more and simply enjoyed the pleasure of kissing her.

Michael had only just pulled her hips to his when they parted, Holly inching back to whisper, "I love you," with a great deal of conviction.

He supposed she still felt guilty for pushing him away the past few days. Michael didn't want her to feel that way — but perhaps it was a good sign that, at the end of every fight, no matter who was at fault, they both felt sorry for separating. Perhaps it was insurance for their future.

"I love you, too," he replied, an equal affirmation. And he sneaked one more kiss on her lips, feeling her sigh contentedly, before letting the moment end.

They lay there quietly for a moment, just looking at each other. Michael at first tried to gauge what she was thinking, until he eventually had his own thought, which he intended to share.

"Truth or Dare?" Michael asked, breaking the silence. If he recalled correctly, it was her turn.

"Hmm," Holly replied in deliberation. "The last Dare involved a boob tattoo, so I'm gonna go with Truth."

This was what he'd hoped for.

So he curled his head up on the pillow, his arm looping around her waist familiarly, and he asked, "So when did you _know_ you loved me?"

This question seemed to surprise her, which was what he'd hoped to achieve — but he'd admittedly thought about this before, and he thought he had an idea of what her answer would be. Still, he waited for her to reply.

Holly, smiling and blushing a bit as she thought this over, eventually dropped down to his level on the pillows. "It's hard to think of a single moment, but… Well, the first moment I knew that I had a _crush_ on you was a little obscure."

Michael raised an eyebrow, and settled into the pillows, awaiting a story. "Do tell."

She grinned at his full attention, clearing her throat. "Well, I remember first meeting you and thinking you were… very _handsome_ ," she admitted, a bit awkwardly — a bit shyly, as if she didn't realize she now lay naked in bed with him. "And I felt a little self-conscious because I hadn't put on much makeup that day… and you were my new _boss_ , so I tried not to let the attraction go anywhere."

"Oh, good job," Michael remarked, nodding his head teasingly.

She stuck her tongue out at him — which was _very_ sexy all at once, but he tried not to interrupt — and continued, "And then when we went on that ferris wheel together, and we started talking, I was getting nervous because you were cute _and_ funny…"

As he listened to this, Michael tried to hide a big, goofy grin, because no one had ever had a _crush_ on him before. It was so dorky. He loved it.

"But…" she began, and exhaled as she smiled nervously. "I knew it was all over when you helped me off the ride."

This wasn't what he'd expected to hear.

" _That_?" Michael asked, just to clarify — not because he was in disbelief that out of all his smooth moments, this instinctive move was the one that hooked her. "It was half a second."

"I told you!" Holly protested, poking his shoulder. "It's obscure, but when I held your hand, I just felt… comfortable. And awkward, and shy, but comfortable. Like I was _supposed_ to be holding your hand, or something."

"That — is adorable," he said, shaking his head — and he reached to take her hand, just for emphasis. "And I love it."

Holly beamed, and lowered her eyes. "But the moment I realized I _loved_ you..."

Michael was still over the moon with her first answer, and kissed her hand in full gentleman-mode. "And when was that?" he asked, before kissing her hand again.

"When we broke up," Holly said simply.

This was another shocking answer, and one which Michael hadn't been prepared to hear. His lips parted in confusion; his brow furrowed. He waited for her to continue, though, in case he had misunderstood.

Swallowing, Holly admitted, "I didn't know how much I really cared about you until the night you drove back with Darryl. I mean, I was already upset, but I thought I could get over it, and then… I don't know. Once you were really gone, I just… I actually called my _mom_. That's how bad it was."

"Me, too," Michael said under his breath — and looked up at her quickly. "Not the calling my mom — but it was rough, yeah. Actually- actually, I did call my mom, but I- that's complicated. I won't get into it."

"Okay," Holly said, chuckling at his rambling. Then, she propped herself up slightly and asked, "When did _you_ know?"

He raised his eyebrows at that, as this was a wide-sweeping question and he hadn't thought of an exact answer. "That I liked you? I knew that when we first met — although I _will_ say you sealed the deal when you talked Master Thespian to me. That was pretty hot."

"Act _ing-_ _ **ah**_ _!_ "

" _Act_ ing-ah!" Michael shot back, which made Holly giggle, which made him giggle back. He sighed, fiddling with her fingers in his hand, and added, "And I'll be honest with you, because that's what I'm doing now — I thought I loved you from the moment I met you. But I felt something really different later on… and at first, I thought it was just me being horny, but-"

"Michael!" Holly protested, and her hair fell over her shoulder as she lifted her head to look at him seriously.

"Just _listen_ ," he said anyway, giving her hand a squeeze. His voice lowered. "It was on our third date, and all day I was excited and nervous because we both knew we were gonna have sex that night… And then it happened, and I wasn't nervous, which was a relief."

"So you first knew you loved me when we had sex?"

"Let me finish," he said again, gently. "It was after the first time we did it — literally _right_ after, and it had been a really good time — and I was expecting you to start getting dressed and say goodnight, like it usually went." And his expression softened, and he felt a little embarrassed as he said, "But you didn't. You did this little thing where you hugged me around my neck and just… hugged me, right after we had sex. Like it wasn't an invitation or an obligation or anything; you just _hugged_ me."

Holly seemed to recall this as he spoke about it, maybe for the first time since it had happened. This had been years ago, so Michael was sure it hadn't made as much of an impression on her. But it had definitely stuck with him.

And here she was now, just lying with him after making love, smiling at him the same way… and she glowed, and she made him glow, and sometimes he wished they could stay like that all the time.

"And I wish I had told you," he said eventually, shrugging. "Maybe things would have been different, if I… had been honest."

Holly's expression fell at this statement. Silently at first, she reached up to brush his hair back, gently and affectionately reassuring him with simple touches. He closed his eyes for a moment, appreciating the feeling…

"Honey?" she asked, her voice tentative.

He peeked his eyes open a bit sleepily. "Yeah?"

"I haven't been completely honest either," she confided, sounding ashamed as her tone dropped into the breathy area. "About a lot of things… some of which I think you already know."

Michael wrinkled his forehead. "What do you mean?"

"Truth or Dare?" Holly asked without explanation, and she eyed him curiously.

He wasn't sure what she wanted. "Truth, I guess."

At that, she bit her lip, and nodded slightly. "So what did I tell you when I was drunk?"

She asked this with a sense of certainty, as if she already knew the answer or had a pretty good idea — and that was a bit of a problem, since Michael wasn't sure what she _thought_ she'd said or if he should tell her what she actually said. He didn't want to embarrass her, since she hadn't really been in control of what she'd been saying…

But he was supposed to be honest, about absolutely everything now.

"I know," Holly began with a nervous tilt, "that I said something about the wedding — and there's a lot about the wedding that I probably should have told you before now…"

Michael summoned his courage in one big breath, and dropped his shoulders.

"You told me that you didn't want to get married on the beach," he said first. "You… suggested we have the wedding in space, also."

Holly blinked at him, as if uncertain of how to respond — and then cracked a smile. "Oh, boy."

"Yep," Michael agreed with a nod. "But you explained it, and you're right — I don't wanna wait another year to get married. I want to be married to you _now_."

"Now it's coming back to me," Holly said with wide eyes, and bit her lip in disbelief. "I… oh, _boy_."

"What?"

"The Smurfs."

"Oh," Michael realized. "Yeah, that- the Smurfs did come up, but it was cute. You were very cute."

"Until I was puking," Holly pointed out.

"Until, yeah, until you were puking," he said, reining her in by the hand. "And you told me you wanted to meet my parents, so there is also that."

"Wow." She took a deep breath, expression set in shock. "When it rains, it pours."

" _And opens doors_ ," Michael sang quietly, in a scratchy Train imitation. " _And fills the floors and spills the… nuh-nuh nuh keep us dry…_ "

He didn't know the song so well.

"I'm sorry for getting antsy," Holly said after a minute. When he looked up at her, her eyes dropped to the mattress. "I didn't wanna be that naggy fiancee who needs to plan the wedding all the time, you know? I want it to be half my wedding, half your wedding, and _don't_ you dare say you don't care about the planning, because I know you do."

"I know, I do," Michael assured her, hand resting on her hip as he listened. "I do care. I've just been holding back because I didn't wanna be _your_ naggy fiance when maybe, I don't know, you weren't ready to talk about it yet…"

Holly smiled shyly, lowering her gaze. "I _am_."

And that… made his heart stop for a second, he was pretty sure.

"Yeah?" he asked, a bit obviously.

She nodded. "Yeah. I mean, with my dad getting worse, I definitely want to have a sooner wedding, you know, to make sure he's feeling well enough to participate. And I know he wouldn't… want me to rush it, but it doesn't have to be a rush, you know? If we start now, we can take it slow and still be ready early enough, in case he…"

Her voice trailed off at that, dissolving and leaving only distant peering into his chest, silent.

And Michael hated this, but he knew he couldn't whisk away her grieving of the situation. The most he could do was to distract her, and fortunately, this was a skill he'd mastered early in life.

So he channeled his inner child and did the first thing that came to mind.

"Can I make him talk?" he asked.

At first, she didn't understand the question. "My dad?"

"No-" he said, just to clear that up right away. "Not- not him." Then he pointedly lowered his eyes to her cleavage, and then met her eyes, just to see what she would think.

At first, there was complete confusion… and then shock.

Perhaps full disclosure was not always a good thing.

"You want to make Alvin talk?" she questioned, her voice blunt with puzzlement.

"Well… no, I'm kidding. I don't _actually_ -"

"But I know more of the songs."

"I know, and I-" Michael stopped himself mid-sentence, as he realized what she was saying. He raised his eyebrows at her.

She smiled at him playfully.

So far, honesty was impressing him.

* * *

 _ **I just... you know how most people have those filters in their head - like, channels that every thought goes through, before they say something out loud or put it on paper? I don't have that. My head is just this big empty room with a little gremlin sitting in the corner, and every once in a while, it cackles and shouts something horrible, and the thought echoes around a bit and then comes out with no resistance.**_

 _ **Anyway, I knew this chapter was coming. The Alvin Chapter. My demon. My horror.**_

 _ **So yeah, that's why this took a week. Thanks so much for the reviews and for like... putting up with this shit.**_


	73. Things That Went Unspoken

**Chapter LXXIII**

 **Things That Went Unspoken**

* * *

 _Where did it all go wrong?_

 _Why is this what we've chosen?_

 _I can only do so much_

 _To fix all the things that went unspoken._

\- "Back Home" by Caribou (cover by Daniela Andrade).

* * *

This could potentially be one of the most awkward car-returns in the history of the automobile. But there really wasn't any other way.

" _I am the egg-man!"_

She'd considered hiring someone to come drive the second car in her place, but that wasn't a responsible use of money.

" _You are the egg-men!"_

Crashing the car and meeting her mother in court would have been easier than this.

" _I am the walrus! Goo goo g'joob, goo goo-"_

Holly shut the radio off with more force than necessary, and actually made the air-freshener shake with the motion. She then reached up more gently to stop it from swinging, taking a deep breath…

She was a little tense. After all, it had been nearly a week since Holly had visited her parents.

And it was funny, because Holly had moved down to Colorado with the intention to spend _more_ time with her irritating mother and fifty-percent of her father. Yet here she was, months later, and not only terrified, but _dreading_ to drive up Ellsworth Place and turn into their driveway.

This week had definitely thrown her for a loop.

Fortunately, making up with Michael had helped her to gain more perspective on the situation. Over the weekend, she'd learned to be more open about her feelings on this — about her dad, and the wedding, and her _mom_ to top it all off. Also, she'd had a lot of sex, and cuddling, and comfort food, which made for a restorative few days. Michael proved to be very good at comforting her.

 _Unfortunately,_ Michael had also read a few internet articles, and informed her that "accepting this new challenge" would require "a full willingness to face the problems head-on."

So he'd decided today was the day to visit her parents.

Michael was up ahead at the moment, his silhouette visibly bouncing in the driver's seat of her mother's vehicle, to the rhythm of "goo goo g'joob, goo goo g'joob," naturally. And she smiled at him, because she loved him, and because this idea had come from a place of love… but she was still ninety-five percent sure that he couldn't _make_ her do this.

Her smile faded, though, when she witnessed as he slowed to a stop, and turned into the driveway on his left — the hell driveway. The mere sight of it filled her stomach with ice.

She couldn't decide if she was too angry or too afraid to go inside.

It shouldn't have been either. After days of consideration and reconsideration, Holly could logically agree that while Mom had been really _stupid_ , she'd wanted to do the right thing. So there was really no reason to be angry.

And she could also see that her dad had never really wanted to hit _her_. He'd thought she was an intruder. He hadn't known she was his daughter.

So there was no reason to be _scared_ …

Holly pulled into the driveway after him, while he had already parked the vehicle and now sat still inside — pressing something on the dashboard with deliberation. Holly knew he was changing the presets on her mother's radio just to annoy her, and she didn't know how to feel — irritated that he was already joking with the woman again, or proud that he was trying to piss her off.

She settled on proud, and brought the vehicle to a stop.

In protest, Holly waited in the car until Michael stepped out. She was curious to see if he would leave it alone or if he would really try to get her to do this. After all, he wasn't going to somehow convince her to go inside. She was unshakable. She was a _rock —_ a rock who _really_ didn't want to see her mother. She was entitled to that choice.

Michael approached her window with a smile on his face, as if he thought this was a perfectly normal situation. Holly rolled her window down only — because if she opened the door, he'd kneel down and talk to her sweetly and maybe weaken her resolve. She wouldn't give him the chance. She was unshakable.

"Hey," Michael greeted, leaning his arms on the window and grinning at her. "You wanna peek in and say 'hi' before we go?"

Holly just lowered her chin at him, since he already knew the answer.

But he just smiled, lowering his chin, too — but not to pout. He looked up at her through his lashes in the cutesy way that made it hard for her to say "no," in the complete knowledge that he was manipulating her with his good looks. He was the devil.

But she was a rock, so she pressed her lips together and did not cave.

Michael's spirit didn't break, however, and he leaned on his hand, tilting his head like a little puppy to look at her. "Just for a minute? Just to see your dad — you don't even have to _talk_ to Annie. I can keep her busy, if you want. Or- or we can both freeze her out. Whatever you want."

"I want to go get lunch," Holly said pointedly, keeping her voice low. She glanced over his shoulder at the house, and the empty window in front. "We can visit another day. Can't we just go?"

"Sure, sure," Michael relented right away, shaking his head. "No pressure. Whenever _you're_ ready."

Holly blinked up at him, prepared to have to argue with him further — but he was being gentle about this, and very sweet. Her expression softened as she examined his face, backlit by the sun as he smiled supportively at her…

"I'll come around," he said with no further discussion. He leaned into the window for a kiss, and Holly sat up to meet his lips.

She sighed, then, because his lips were quite warm in the summer heat — and so was his hand, which had reached in to caress her hair with featherlight touch. Holly kissed him again, inhaling deeply, her eyes closing as she relaxed into his mouth…

Then he pulled back, to her dismay, and broke the warmth they'd accumulated together. Holly let out all her breath, dropping back into her seat. She looked up at him with pouting eyes, lips tingling, heart beating a bit faster.

When he kissed her like that, and touched her like that, she was inclined to listen to anything he had to say. When he _looked_ at her like he was doing right now, it caused her to consider the mere _idea_ of _possibly_ walking up those steps and knocking on the door… but she was a rock. She was unshakable.

"I love you," he said, no strings attached — no longer trying to convince her one way or another — and he already agreed to go to lunch and forget about it all, so there was no reason-

"Five minutes," Holly relented, as if he'd asked. She turned the car off indignantly, hating her own decision. " _Just_ to see Dad."

"All righty," Michael decided, and he pulled the door open for her already. Holly unbuckled her seatbelt, quickly so that she could accept his helping hand out of the vehicle. As irritated as she was about how he'd talked her into this, she did have to hide a smile at the comfortable feeling of his hand in hers.

They'd only fought for three days, but she felt as though she'd missed a year of little touches.

Michael swung the door shut behind her and began to lead her reluctantly up the cobblestone path, at a comfortable, non-threatening pace. Holly squeezed his hand to release some of her nerves. Michael squeezed it back.

"You look pretty," Michael decided to tell her, smiling shyly.

Holly raised her eyebrows, and she, too, smiled. "You look handsome, yourself," she remarked with a slight blush. She bumped him slightly on their way up to the stairs. "You wore my favorite jeans."

Michael chuckled, but looked at her sideways. "You can tell the difference between jeans?"

"Yeah," Holly said; and she stopped for a second, blinking. "Can you not?"

He furrowed his brow. "I mean, yeah, at the store next to all the other jeans. But at home, they all look the same. How can you tell?"

Holly shrugged, and they continued walking. "You can tell by color, usually. That's not how I distinguish yours, though — you always buy the same color."

"I told you, only one kind works with my shoes!" Michael insisted, head bobbing.

"We can buy you more shoes," Holly said with a chuckle.

"I don't need more shoes for the two days a week I wear jeans."

"It would help your work shoes last longer."

"I've got running shoes and working shoes, and that's all a person needs, ultimately," Michael said, and stopped walking to allow her up the stairs. He always did this, instead of helping her up the stairs — they had established a rule about it, actually. Michael made sure she didn't trip and fall down stairs. Holly made sure he didn't trip and fall into koi ponds and other bodies of water.

"Wait," Michael said, as they reached the top of the steps. "So how do you distinguish my pants, then?"

Holly pressed the doorbell with a smile, eyes lowered. "Just by feel."

Obviously, Michael didn't understand her implication. "Feel?"

Without trying to explain, Holly reached over to stretch her hand over his ass, giving it a little pinch. He jumped at the feeling, eyes wide — and when he looked at her, a bashful yet sexy smile covered his face.

"Ah," he remarked under his breath. "I see."

Not a second later did she feel his hand slip into the back of her pants, and she jolted, turning toward him and inching away from his hand. " _Hey_ ," she protested with a subconscious grin. She glanced anxiously at the window into the house, hearing footsteps approaching the door. "She's coming! Hands to yourself."

"I thought we were trying to annoy her," Michael pointed out with a peaked eyebrow, and slipped his hand further down her pants — and he sneaked a little close to mutter, "I think feeling you up would annoy her _quite_ a bit-"

The tables turned, however, when her mother finally opened the door, and Michael jerked his hand up to the surface in a panic. Except his finger got caught in her shirt, making the whole endeavor painfully obvious to both Holly and her mother, who appeared all at once, with an expression of shock as she followed Michael's hand back into his own pocket and then looked back to Holly…

And her eyes locked there.

Holly was stunned when she met her mother's gaze, for the first time in days. She'd expected anger to fill her expression when she laid eyes on Holly — after being ignored all week, in a way that had surely hurt her. Holly's chest filled with air as she bit her lip, the way she knew Mom hated.

Eventually, neither of them could maintain the eye contact, both looking to Michael. He froze when he realized what they were expecting.

"Annie," Michael greeted, obviously struggling for words to say. Glancing between the two of them, he added, "Uh, we thought we'd return the car, so… It's- we did, and it's over there."

He turned to point to the cars in the driveway. Holly followed his hand, finding comfort in turning away from her mother's stare — her hollow, wide, unreadable stare on her daughter. She could still feel its weight wherever she looked, though.

"Thank you," Mom said behind Holly's head.

"Don't worry about it," Michael said, and reached over to take Holly's hand subtly. "Your presets are awful, by the way."

"Awful?" Mom challenged. "That's classic music, Michael. Billy Joel, Boston, Fleetwood, the Eagles…"

"Really? All I found was a bunch of bluegrass and reggae."

Her mother paused, confused. "Bluegrass? What the-"

"And church gospel. I didn't know you liked church gospel."

"I don't like- oh, damn you, _damn_ you, Michael-"

"What? I didn't do anything!"

"You're never using my car again," Mom muttered, shaking her head. Then she looked between the two of them, and Holly froze up again, eyes dropping down below. She cleared her throat nervously.

Michael wiggled his fingers between her fingers, though, and that helped.

"Howard's upstairs reading if either of you would want to come in and say 'hello'," Mom eventually said, not directly addressing Holly but clearly not referencing Michael. "Or… you can just give me the keys, if you have somewhere to be."

"We don't," Holly finally spoke — not definitively stating that she wanted to come inside, but basically saying she wanted to come inside. And she cleared her throat again, trying to seem casual about it.

Mom was silent for a moment, until her hand, which had hung on the doorway during this whole conversation, bounced off the wall to clear the way for them. "Come in," she said with a welcoming nod.

"Thank you," Michael said for the both of them.

Holly just returned the nod and followed Michael inside.

The house looked exactly as it had last week — her mother hadn't completely renovated this time, which was telling. It was quiet, above all else. Mom wasn't cooking, or talking on the phone, and Dad wasn't watching TV or humming or marching around upstairs with thudding footsteps. It was dreadfully quiet.

"He's up in the bedroom right now," Mom said. She stopped between Michael and Holly and the hallway, and turned back to ask, "Do you guys want anything to drink or anything? We have lemonade."

"That would be lovely," Michael said before Holly could get a word in — and smiled gratefully. "Thank you very much."

This seemed to relieve Mom, who instantly started toward the kitchen, leaving Holly and Michael behind in the middle of the living room. Holly glanced up at Michael, who was pretty pleased with himself. When he saw her pouting, he frowned.

"What?"

"You said I wouldn't have to talk to her," Holly reminded him under her breath as she watched the kitchen doorway. "In fact, I recall you promising to freeze her out."

"Well, I tricked you," Michael said, quite bluntly. "Because I love you."

"I'm not making up with her!"

"Fine!" Michael said, though he didn't sound as though he believed her. He drew her forward to the kitchen. "Let's go get the lemonade and then we can bolt."

"Okay," Holly relented weakly.

So they entered the kitchen, their mumbling ceasing as they were under the attention of her mother, who barely looked at the lemonade she was pouring and instead kept accidentally peeking at Holly. This inspired mixed feelings in Holly, but she kept a straight face as she mounted one of the barstools in silence.

It was to her surprise and confusion that Michael wouldn't take a seat beside her.

"I need to run to the arrest-room," Michael announced, hardly subtle at all. He leaned over to kiss Holly's cheek and turned away. "I'll be right back. Excuse me."

Holly's mouth opened to stop him, but he was already out of the room by the time she'd turned around. Mom didn't say anything either, and simply opened the refrigerator to stow away the lemonade.

The bathroom door shut down the hall, and this was the last noise made for a few minutes.

Feeling ambushed, Holly wasn't sure what she aimed to do next, as she sipped away at her lemonade and tried to avoid eye contact with her mother. Mom was busy enough wiping something off the counter, and, once that was complete, unloading a bag of apples into the fruit bowl, and once that was complete, grabbing the rag and wiping at something nonexistent just for the sake of doing _something_ …

And when she could, Holly caught a glance of her mother's face, just out of curiosity. And she was surprised to find no indignation, no bitterness there — just a hint of sadness, in deep thought. Her mouth would open to speak, but she would decide against it.

Eventually, she didn't, though.

"So you two made up?" Mom asked, and it was startling to suddenly be engaged in conversation. Holly froze, meeting her mom's eyes for the first time in many minutes — she swallowed.

"We did," Holly answered after a long period of stun. "It was rough for a while, but we're… he's been really supportive, while we're working through our plans now."

"You're pushing the wedding up, aren't you?"

"Yes, but it's not like that," she said before her mom could protest. She leaned her elbows on the counter and dropped her chin into her hands. "Neither of us want to wait a year just so that we can have a summer wedding. We've been talking about something late this fall, instead."

Mom didn't have a smart response for this. She just nodded.

Holly took this as encouragement to continue to fill the silence, so she exhaled. "Michael likes November eleventh, because it'll be eleven-eleven-eleven, which he thinks is good luck. That gives us four months to plan, so as long as we apply ourselves, we should be able to put it together…"

When she looked up at her mother, she saw a smile on her face — and this prompted Holly to smile, too, if only slightly. She'd expected Mom to chastise her, but nothing negative was being said, to Holly's utter disbelief.

She must have felt really guilty.

"How are things here?" Holly asked, indirectly wondering how her mother was doing but not in a way that could be proved. "How's Dad been doing?"

"Better," Mom said, bobbing her head. "He's… adjusting to the medication pretty well. There's just a few side effects that're bothering him a little."

Holly's brow furrowed. "What kind of side effects?"

Sensing the concern in her tone, Mom waved a hand at her. "He just gets really thirsty now, which isn't so bad — but then he has to pee a lot, and that's getting on his nerves. One time, I walked by the bathroom and heard him mutter, 'I didn't serve our country for this.'"

Holly instantly chuckled, which broke the tension in the room into fractions — because if there was one thing that united Holly and her mother, it was a mutual love for Dad. "I've missed him," Holly said with a grin, glancing up at the ceiling.

"He's missed you," Mom replied, smiling, herself. And she gestured toward the living room. "You should go and see him — before he hears you and comes all the way down."

"Uh-huh," she agreed, and sat up straight on the barstool, half-turned to the door. "I figured I'd wait for Michael, but he's taking his sweet time…"

To this, her mother had no remark, but continued to nod her head as she examined the counter. Holly nodded with her, exhaling softly. They came to a half-comfortable silence.

Then Mom scratched her nose and muttered, "I'm uh, I'm glad you two are getting along, again. I didn't wanna mess that up, by any means."

"I am, too," Holly said, quick to reassure her. Mom lifted her head to meet Holly's eyes. "Actually, I think that… in a weird way, this has been good for us, you know? It's opening the lines of communication, and we needed that."

"Good, good," her mother said, peeking over Holly's shoulder as if Michael were visible there.

Again, there was a lull.

In the distance, a toilet flushed. And then a door opened, announcing Michael's approach — and signaling the coming end of this conversation. Already, Mom moved to place her now-empty glass in the sink, head turning away as the water came on…

"Maybe," Holly said, as if in answering something, and drew her mother's eye again. The look on her face was hopeful, though she obviously tried to hide it.

Holly swallowed.

"Maybe this could be good for us, too," she finished, trying on a smile at her mother.

Although this was an unexpected remark, and not quite a statement of forgiveness, Mom paused, expression relaxing, cup suspended over the sink as though time had stopped…

"All right!"

The moment broke when Michael entered the kitchen, footsteps lively as he came up to the counter. "Sorry about that. There was… an issue with my zipper, but I… fixed it, so-"

"Mhm," Holly replied skeptically, without looking up at him. Her mother made a similarly incredulous expression, but didn't respond. "I'm gonna head upstairs."

"M'kay," Michael said — and he leaned over to kiss her cheek, which brought a smile to her face, despite the way he'd ambushed her here.

* * *

 ** _Michael's doin his best isn't he_**


	74. Watching Me, Watching You

**Chapter LXXIV**

 **Watching Me, Watching You**

* * *

 _Eying you from across the room —_

 _Watching me,_

 _Watching you…_

\- "Hit and Run" by Lana Del Rey.

* * *

When Michael was young and innocent — prepubescent, somewhat lonely, and sheltered, therefore underexposed to popular culture for the first half of his childhood and _therefore_ therefore underexposed to popular _kids_ for the entirety of his minor life — he had once believed that he could make the funniest faces in the world. He'd been a proud child, but as far as he knew, no one ever made him laugh more than himself in a mirror. Or his dad had, before he left, but that was beside the point.

Then he'd been introduced to the miracle that was professional comedy, including Robin Williams, Steve Martin, and the other greats of mischief and mayhem. And he'd decided that no real person — no non-celebrity, to be specific — could make funnier faces than he could. He'd carried this belief through his entire life thereafter. Even Kevin, who made a lot of stupid faces in his lifetime, could not beat the reigning champion, Michael Gary Scott.

But Holly had come to play today.

"As always, thank you guys for putting in the time and devotion that it takes to keep these departments up and running. Don't forget to thank your superiors, your employees, and your coworkers for participating in the team effort that is preserving and protecting the fruits of…"

Michael squinted at the floor in deep thought, scrunching up his face in a few different ways in hopes of finding something good. After cycling through random animals and inexplicable configurations, the game had shifted to fictional characters. He'd already given her his Spongebob Squarepants, his Joker, his Bella Swan, and his Doctor Brown from _Back to the Future_ — and she'd hit back hard with Jack Sparrow, Hermione Granger, and John Keating. Now, it was up to him to find something better than her innocently-smirking Robin Williams.

He was struggling, though. Most of his impressions required voices, and they couldn't speak in the middle of this meeting. That was the beauty of this game — the danger of being caught, by their boss, George, who had come all the way down to the ninth floor just to give them this little speech — or by Zach, who was in the corner, taking notes — or by Heather, who was seated right beside Michael and glanced over at him occasionally. And if _she_ caught them, he'd be in for an earful.

Then it hit him.

 _Spock._

He lifted his head and caught Holly's eye, which was full of mischief already. She subtly leaned on her elbow to look at him. He then furrowed his brow, straightened his mouth, squinted his eyes, and held up the Vulcan Salute.

Holly's straight face became a struggle, corners of her mouth inching into a smile — and she rolled her lips into her mouth to keep from chuckling. Michael couldn't see himself, so he had to assume that the impression was either so good that she was about to laugh, or so bad that she was about to laugh. Either way, he was pleased with his choice.

"-have any questions, you can take them to our new H.R. representative, Holly Flax," George announced, grabbing their attention as he gestured toward Holly's seat against the wall. Holly instantly sat up straighter, as all eyes turned to her, including George's.

"Yes," Holly said, stuttering. "I can take your questions."

George nodded at her, and then looked around the room. "This is only Ms. Flax's second week here, but I think she's made a great addition to the team. Let's make her feel at home, all right?"

Then everyone started up a small applause — much like when Michael had first arrived at the DNR, but a bit more enthusiastic now — and he tried not to be offended by that, but he was, a little bit. Still, he clapped enthusiastically for Holly, who seemed appreciative of and embarrassed by the attention.

When the clapping stopped, George shrugged his shoulders. "All right, guys. That's about all I had, so you can get back to work and I'll quit bothering you. Thanks."

They all then started up from their seats, except for Zach, who inaudibly thanked George back, naturally. As Michael stood up, he smiled at Holly, as vaguely as he could now that people were turning around and moving. Holly grinned back, but quickly lowered her eyes. Michael blinked at her curiously.

Behind him, Heather loudly cleared her throat.

And he knew they'd been caught.

So Michael lowered his head with a small sigh of repentance and walked ahead of Holly, rushing for the door. If he was fast, he could escape the conference room and reach his office before Heather would be able to catch up — but the question was, how rude was Heather willing to be in order to lecture him?

When he heard someone stumble back into their folding chair behind him, he realized that the answer was _very rude_.

Michael had made it to the door before her, until he had to wait for George and Zach to get out of the way in the hall, and then she caught onto his wrist — latching on like the boogie monster of every child's nightmares — sending chills up his spine such that he'd never experienced in his life.

Well, he'd felt something similar, or much worse, when he'd first went out to lunch with Mrs. Flax, but he wasn't sure he'd classify this as a moment "in his life." He was in hell there. He was definitely halfway dead at the least. Or he'd wanted to be.

He wanted to be now.

But he allowed her to escort him down the hall, and pretended to be a willing prisoner for the benefit of those around them. When they finally reached his office, he said a small prayer before being ushered through the door, which was soon shut behind them.

"Boring meeting," Michael announced, just to cover his tracks. He turned to face her. "I've never been that bored."

"Really? I was entertained," Heather said right away, arms crossed. "I mean, that was a once-in-a-lifetime public eye-sex showcase. I've never seen anything like it. Good show." For emphasis, she clapped her hands.

"No one saw it but you," Michael said, brushing it off as he turned back toward his desk. "And you know what I don't get?"

"How to have a semi-professional relationship in the workplace?"

"Why is it," he said as he dropped into his chair, "that you can drag me around like a naggy wife, but no one's ever gonna suspect _we're_ together?"

Heather raised her eyebrows at him. "Whoa. Why didn't I think of that? Besides the fact that I worked here way before you, and you just moved here, that makes total sense. We _did_ just both move from the same area, and you _did_ give me the reference to get this job. And if anyone were to follow us around the block, they _would_ catch us getting into the same car and driving to the apartment _that we share_."

"Okay," Michael stopped her with a hand raised. "I get it. Jeez."

"But why not make goofy faces at each other during a meeting?" Heather continued, dropping into the chair by the window. "And you know — why don't _you_ burst into my office emotionally sometime tomorrow, and _I'll_ flash my gigantic ring around everywhere-"

"Okay!" he insisted as he flew up straight. "So we're not being as careful as we should be. That's all you had to say."

"Zach's gonna get suspicious," she pointed out, blinking up at the ceiling. "If he isn't already. And you know I'd run damage control for you, baby, but you timed this just so perfectly that I _can't_ talk to him."

Michael wiggled the mouse on his computer, only half-listening now. "Well, if you hadn't gone all Jackie Bauer on Zach, then Holly would have never gotten the job in the first place. So the timing was actually-"

"Michael."

"So we'll do better," he said quickly, before she could snap at him. "It's my fault. I've been a bad influence."

"Mhm," Heather muttered as she vacantly peered out the window. "What the hell happened over the weekend? I know you guys made up on Thursday, but we're seriously at comedic foreplay already?"

The thought of it being foreplay brought a grin to his face. He hoped it was foreplay. He hadn't really thought of it as foreplay.

"Stop thinking about sex."

"I'm not," Michael lied, and forced the grin away. "And what _happened_ over the weekend was that we worked it out. And we made a pact to be honest with each other, about everything, so we've been confessing a lot of secrets. And it's actually fun."

"Gross."

"Not like- twisting my words," he said, scowling. He leaned forward onto his desk. "It's _fun_ because we're super close now. It's like every little detail of my past is coming back up and I don't even care, because- it- it's like confession at a church, except you know the person you're confessing to and they're confessing to you too, and you're both so hot for each other that you don't judge."

This idea didn't seem to impress Heather, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "Everything? You've told her everything?"

"Even the least sexy stuff in the world," Michael said with a nod. "Like how I once peed on a cat because it scratched me. She'll probably never get that image out of her head, but she still loves me. Isn't that the best?"

Heather blinked at him, saying nothing.

"What?"

"You peed on a cat."

"It was a stray! I thought it gave me rabies."

"Better," Heather said sarcastically, nodding slowly.

His mouth opened to defend himself further — but if there was anything he'd learned this weekend, it was that he didn't have to defend himself. Because Holly got it. She understood.

She loved him even when he pissed on stray cats.

"Have you guys seen her parents yet?" Heather asked then. "Talked about all this?"

"Nah- not yet, no," Michael admitted with a shrug. "I mean, I got them to talk to each other a little bit, but they haven't _actually_ talked."

"Ah."

"Yeah. But _we've_ been talking," he gloated, as if Annie were in the room to hear it — and he leaned back in his chair to prop his feet up, like a C.E.O. in a big office. "And we're actually making a _lot_ of progress now. She even wants to meet my _parents_."

Heather's eyebrows shot up. "Wow. That's a step."

"I mean, it's not gonna happen," Michael clarified. "Not in a million years, yick, but still — isn't that a big deal? It kinda feels like a big deal."

"Wait, what do you- why not?" Heather said as she sat up straight, quite hastily. "You're not gonna introduce her to your parents? Why?"

Michael froze mid-stream of thought, not expecting this question. Heather blinked at him expectantly, even a bit indignantly — and suddenly, he felt self-conscious. "Well… I just don't… want her to?"

Apparently, this was the wrong answer, because Heather's brow furrowed and she bounced up to sit Indian-style, which was her attack stance.

"Why not?" she challenged. "I mean, what? Are you not talking to your parents?"

Michael bit his lip. "I… I mean yeah, I am. But I don't really want to go see them, with her."

"You embarrassed of her?"

"Wh- no! _No_ ," he shot back, almost scolding her for the idea. "I'm not embarrassed of her. If anything- hey, if anything, I'm embarrassed of _them_. They're the trainwreck, here."

This response seemed to appease her, as she leaned on her elbow then, still staring at him. "Okay, then. She's gotta meet them sometime, though. You can't just wait until the wedding day."

Michael kept silent upon hearing this. His eyes lowered slightly, as though he were wildly interested in the pencil cup on his desk…

Then Heather bobbed her head back, and she raised her voice; "You were gonna wait until the wedding day. Oh, _my_ god."

"I'd like it to be made official, just in case-"

"Just in case what, Michael?" she asked incredulously. "What is so awful about your parents?"

"They-" Michael began, quite enthusiastically — but he didn't even know where to begin. He glanced at the door, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. "They're just… My _mom,_ for one thing, doesn't even believe I'm engaged. She thinks I'm making Holly up!"

Heather was quiet for a moment, until this seemed to hit her, and she giggled. "Well, all right."

"Not all right!" he protested, shaking his head. "Very, very not all right — and Charlotte's just gonna encourage her and they're gonna joke about, like, how much I paid Holly to come pose as my fiancee…'

"Who's Charlotte?" Heather interrupted.

Michael scowled. "Charlotte's my half-sister - the little baby angel of the family. Oh, and she's clinically _insane._ "

Heather raised her eyebrows. "In the funny way, the scary way, or the inspirational way?"

"The scary way," he assured her. "Every time there's a family event, she shows up and tries to steal attention by any means necessary. There's a very real possibility Holly or I get murdered."

"I wanna meet her," Heather muttered, sounding almost aroused. He ignored her.

"And she gets it from _Jeff_ , my mom's husband," he continued, and grimaced at the very name. "He's one of those jerkholes who thinks he's _so funny_ and _so handsome_ and _so responsible_ with his firefighting and his _stupid fishing boat_ -"

"Okay," she cut him off, stretching her hands out. "So your family's quirky, lot to unpack, got it. Holly probably won't care."

"I don't know what she's gonna think," Michael said, and leaned on his elbows to let his head drop. "And I know I'm being honest now, but I don't think I'm ready for Holly to find out that I spanked my nephew. She's _very_ against that."

"Really?" Heather asked, as if she weren't — but she let that go. "I mean, if he was doing something dangerous, I'm sure she'd understand. How old was he at the time?"

Michael sucked his lips in, hesitant to respond.

"Uh, twenty-two."

Heather's shoe slipped off the chair at that.

He pretended to be very interested in whatever was on his computer monitor. Apparently, there was a sale on Zappos. He liked shoes.

"I'm asking how old _he_ was."

"Oh, I know," Michael said with a quick nod, still refusing to make eye contact. He could already hear confusion boiling up inside Heather.

"Wait-"

Then someone knocked on the door, causing Michael to nearly fly out of his seat in surprise and relief at once. "Who is it? Come in!" he shouted a bit obviously. He could feel Heather's disbelief radiating from over the desk.

When the door opened, Michael was expecting to see Ginny, or Heather, or even someone else who liked Michael just a little bit. He was not expecting to see Zach, with a refreshingly-neutral expression and a piece of paper in his hand.

"Michael," Zach said, a bit out of breath. He eyed the paper in his hand in confusion. "George asked me to give you this flier for the barbecue next…"

Then the boy's eyes landed on Heather, who watched him with intention and discomfort — but, upon further examination, she didn't seem unhappy, either. She seemed terrified.

Michael had never seen Heather look scared. Even when engaged in a fistfight with a man, or under the possibility of being arrested for vandalization — not at all like this.

Zach, too, became quite nervous as he muttered, "Next weekend. I'll just…"

Heather was the first to break eye contact, looking instead at Michael with a mortified expression. Zach, equally confused, simply dropped the piece of paper to the ground and shut the door in one of the most awkward exits Michael had witnessed in his lifetime.

Even once he was gone, Heather would not say a word. Michael blinked at her eagerly.

"So when did you have sex?"

"We didn't!" Heather said as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "We just ran into each other Saturday, at a restaurant — and it was awkward, because we talked to each other for the first time, and I hadn't prepared any jokes about his sex life, and he couldn't think of anything idiotic to say, I guess, and so it was really, really awkward and now it's even _worse_ because you kept me in here for the ambush!"

"Hey," Michael protested. "I didn't keep you in here. You've been sitting here dictating my life for the past gazillion minutes."

"Call your mom!"

"Talk to Zach!"

"No!"

"Then no!"

"Fine!" Heather said, and stood up. "These are all 'you' problems anyway. I'm gonna go steal your assistant and play desk air-hockey _without you_."

"Yeah, fine, wimp," Michael said, waving her off.

"Fine, coward."

"Fine," he echoed, and let her head for the door. But then he looked up and added, "Can you bring me a soda?"

"Yeah," Heather said, still slamming the door.

* * *

 _ **I didn't remember the detail about pissing on a cat. Now I do. Hm.**_

 _ **Anyway thanks for reading, leave a review, etc.**_


	75. I've Got This Friend

**Chapter LXXV**

 **I've Got This Friend**

* * *

 _I've got this friend…_

 _I don't think you know her…_

\- "I've Got This Friend" by The Civil Wars.

* * *

Ever since they'd moved into the apartment, Tuesday nights had spontaneously become movie nights — thanks to the lack of good TV shows in the summer — and they'd had no trouble picking out movies so far. Usually it was a comedy, or some movie that they had wanted to see together during the time they were living states apart. And usually, Holly came up with the options, and Michael picked from them.

But Holly was cramping and for that reason alone, Michael had given her full control over the movie choices. So she picked out a few cute-looking animated films to hopefully ease the pain, and they'd settled in with _Chips Ahoy!_ cookies and a film-adaptation of a book named _Watership Down_. It was set out to be a feel-good evening.

" _My chief told me to defend this run…"_

Holly squeezed her eyes shut tighter, even though her face was buried in Michael's shoulder. She'd been lying on her stomach to stop the cramps, but now, there was something far worse to avoid: bloodied bunnies.

" _Chief?"_

General Woundwort's voice would be permanently etched into her brain, now… as well as the image of gassed, mutilated little rabbits with their throats torn out, and…

The warning trumpets sounded, and instantly, Holly froze. "What's that?" Holly asked into Michael's shirt. And it was funny, because when she'd first taken this position, he'd been getting all hot and bothered — but this movie had turned him to a white sheet of horror.

"I don't know," Michael admitted, fingers clutching at Holly's shirt. "They're not fighting anym-"

" _ **Run!**_ _Run for your_ _**lives**_ _!"_

"-the dog found 'em, the dog found 'em, _shit-_ "

Growling and howling filled the air as Michael jolted underneath her — and when she grabbed his shirt for support, he all but jumped out of his seat — and then a horrible sound filled the air, and Michael shouted out a string of obscenities, his legs jerking up and his arms squeezing her into his chest…

They should have just turned off the movie and made out when he got all turned on. Why did they never do that?

"It mauled a bunny!" Michael announced, as if he were charged with keeping a body count. " _Blood_ …"

"No, no, no, no-"

"Two bunnies!"

"Oh, my _god_!"

" _Come back… Come back!"_

"Run _away_!" he yelled at the TV, a bit too loudly for an apartment building, but Holly was too busy cowering in fear to reprimand him. "Oh, my god…"

" _Come back and fight! Dogs aren't_ _ **dangerous!**_ "

"Yes, they _are_!"

The animated dog growled, and shivers ran up her spine. "What's happening?"

"Three bunnies!" Michael informed her, his hands gripping at her sides and nearly suffocating her. "He's coming after Woundwort-"

The warning trumpets blared like a nightmare. She could feel Michael's whole being start up in angst, the dog snarling, the instruments ri _sing_ -

"Nope!" he suddenly decided, and not a second later, the TV audibly clicked off. He dropped back into the couch cushions and shook his head. "No more. I'm done. I give up."

"Thank you," Holly breathed into his chest.

"I thought… that it- wow, that was…" Michael tried to explain through quick, shallow breaths. His mouth dropped into her hair, drawing her closer — she could hear his heart racing. "That was too… much."

"It looked like a kids movie," she whispered in disbelief.

"And I've seen… plenty of scary movies," he continued. "And I thought it would be worth it… because I'd get to protect you, which was hot, but that- that was _hell_. That was _hell!_ "

"All the blood and the foam," Holly muttered as she drew back to look at him, eyes wide. "And that one bunny's _eyes._ "

Michael just shook his head. "I'm never gonna sleep again. I knew it when that guy's throat got ripped out, and I couldn't stop-"

"You shouldn't have kept watching. Why'd you have to be a hero?"

"I couldn't look _away_!" he exclaimed, and his body fell limply to the side, head dropping on the couch cushion with a thud. He turned his face into the cushion and let out a long groan of grieving.

Holly felt the same. She, too, grieved the innocent person she had been before _Watership Down_.

Holly leaned over to lie down beside him, then, even though his face was hidden in the cracks of the couch. Her head landed next to his, and she kissed his hair; her leg reached over his side to cuddle herself up next to him. Meanwhile, he silently mourned the burning images of animal cruelty which haunted both of their minds.

"You're never picking a movie again," he mumbled into the seat. "Or at least not until January. I've seen enough blood for the year."

She cracked a smile and hugged him closer. "I guess that's fair."

It then occurred to her that this would only be a little over five months, when she did the math in her head — and that was a surprising thought. She hadn't realized how deep into the year they'd come, and how much of it they'd spent in Boulder already.

"How are you feeling?" Michael asked. He turned his head to face her, eyebrows peaked hopefully. "Any better?"

"Mhm," Holly hummed, grinning lazily at him. "You know what I'm craving, though?"

Michael squinted, pretending to consider this for a moment, before replying, "One of the seven pints of ice cream in the freezer?"

Her smile widened, and she rested her forehead against his. "You read my mind," she whispered. She pressed a kiss to his nose before adding, "Want anything while I'm up?"

His expression changed at this statement. "I'll get it for you," he said, nodding.

Holly wrinkled her forehead. "It's okay. I'll get it."

"Hey," Michael stopped her, narrowing his eyes. " _I_ will get it. My uterus isn't eating itself."

At this, Holly's lips parted — because when she'd been explaining periods to him again this morning, she had definitely not explained it like that — but the proud smile on his face caused her to refrain. She just kissed him before he started up off the couch.

While Michael crossed over to the kitchen, Holly inched up to a seated position, easing through the pain in her abdomen to reach out for the TV remote on the table. "We have to watch something happy now, to get our minds off of it. What's your pick?"

The refrigerator opened, and when Holly glanced over at him, she found his head obscured by the freezer door. He hummed in consideration, and then asked, "Something fun and adventure-y… and no animals."

"That rules out _Bug's Life_ ," Holly mumbled, as this was the only other animated movie on their shortlist. She scanned the "newest" section, although her and Michael's favorites were usually older films.

"What flavor are you feeling?" Michael then asked.

Holly shrugged, thumbing through Netflix. "Nineties, maybe. Something familiar with a happy ending…"

Michael was quiet at first, before peeking his head out from the freezer to reply, "I meant ice cream."

"Oh," she realized. "I bought one with peanut butter in it."

"Ooh…"

The second she heard his intrigue, she knew this ice cream would be a shared dessert. She turned back to the TV.

The freezer swung shut, and Michael searched through the drawers for spoons, which he always misplaced — and while he searched, suddenly, his head popped up, and he announced, "I'm in a pirate mood!"

Without looking at him, she asked, "Are we thinking _Treasure Island_ pirates or _Pirates of the Caribbean_ pirates?"

" _Treasure Island!_ " Michael decided, throwing his newfound spoons up victoriously. He then collected the pint of ice cream and headed over for the couch. "What version, though? The Disney or Muppets?" He handed her a spoon and dropped down beside her.

Holly accepted the spoon gratefully and snuggled up beside him as he opened the tub. "They're both classics… but I recall being forbidden to choose movies, so I guess it's up to you."

"You can pick," he said, waving it off. "I was just kidding."

"I don't have an opinion, and I know you do. You pick."

"No, you pick."

"No, _you_ pick."

"Okay, _Treasure Planet,_ " Michael relented, as though he hadn't wanted to choose in the first place. He took a spoonful of the peanut butter cookie-dough ice cream, mumbling through a creamy mouth, "I'm feeling like a steampunk today."

Holly hummed her amusement as she, too, tasted the ice cream — and she hummed again in delight. Then she went in to search for their movie, and simultaneously scooped and typed like a pro.

"Did you know," Michael began, "that this movie was Disney's biggest failure ever? They lost eighty-thousand _dollars_ on it."

She wrinkled her forehead. "Why?"

He shrugged, and stretched an arm around her shoulders. "I don't know. People just didn't go to see it. _I_ saw it on opening day, though."

Finding the movie title, Holly set the remote on his lap and settled into the couch. "Look at you with the trivia."

"I know," Michael muttered, taking a bite; "And did you know that Jim's mom was the same voice as Andy's mom in _Toy Story_? She's like the universal Disney mom."

"I did not know that," Holly remarked. And she smiled, as she watched the movie open and listened to Michael go on with trivia. She'd quickly learned that this was the way Michael enjoyed movies. As long as she had closed captioning, she was good to go.

"There are theories online," he continued, shrugging, "that Jim's dad was this genius professor, and that's how Jim knew how to unlock the map. And Ben's hideout could have been his dad's old workshop after he left."

As music began to play, Holly looked over at Michael, her interest piqued. "Really?" she asked, sticking her spoon in the pint. "I thought John Silver was his dad."

Michael didn't seem to agree with this, but he shrugged. "Could be… _Or_ ," he said, and pointed his spoon at her. "Maybe Jim's mom had an affair with Silver, and that's why his dad left in the first place! Because he found out!"

"Ooh," Holly said, eyebrows raised. And thinking about this further, she added, "And maybe he felt guilty, and that's why he paid for the inn."

"Yeah," he agreed with a nod — and he shoved a spoonful of peanut butter cookie dough in his mouth, smudging it around his lips endearingly. Holly smiled at the sight, and Michael caught her smiling and mumbled, "What?"

She leaned over and pressed her lips to his, kissing off the ice cream tracks. Michael accepted the kiss happily, his eyes closing…

" _On the clearest of nights…"_

Holly broke the kiss to look at the TV, as the narrator's voice filled the room at a surprising volume. She handed the tub off to Michael and reached for the remote to turn the TV down.

"You know, that could be a good idea for a sequel," Michael said, picking up right where they'd left off. "If Jim found his dad. There could be this whole plot where they meet and bond, and then they go off to find treasure and run into a band of his old scalawag crew…."

Holly sat back up to rest her knees on his lap and her head on his shoulder. "I think it's been too long for them to make a sequel."

But Michael didn't mind her logic and rested his head on hers dreamily, watching the screen as pirate ships and cannon fire filled the frame. "I still hope. For that and for another _Star Wars."_

That was never gonna happen, but Holly would let him live in his dream-world.

Onscreen, all the color and chaos came to a halt as little Jim Hawkins slammed his book shut — all at the sight of his mother bursting into his bedroom.

As she watched the scene unfold, though, with the little boy playing with his mother, his father nowhere to be found, she did notice a hint of connection in Michael's eyes. It was a look of relation, of familiarity, as if he had seen this movie a thousand times — as if he were part of it.

And when she thought about the way he'd discussed Jim's dad, and how he wanted Jim to meet his father and go on adventures with him, it saddened her. As little as she knew about Michael's paternal situation, she did know that he had been hurt by his father's departure growing up. She didn't like to think about him getting hurt.

 _"The loot of a thousand worlds —_ _ **Treasure Planet**_ _."_

Holly knew that he would rather just enjoy the movie, but she couldn't help her impulses, so she glanced up at him and whispered, "Honey?"

"Uh-huh?" he replied, not even looking at her.

"What's your family like?"

The second she asked it, she knew Michael felt on edge. His breath caught in his chest beneath her, so that even when she wrapped her arms around him in a hug, he didn't seem to melt at all. She wondered if she shouldn't have asked.

But then, if she didn't ask, would she ever know? It wasn't as though he ever volunteered information about his childhood. Nothing else was off-limits, but this was something he just avoided at all costs.

"That's- where did that come from?" Michael asked with a breathy laugh, as if he were trying to sound casual. "That's so random. Why?"

Holly shrugged, looking down at his legs. "I don't know. If I'm gonna meet them, I'd like to know what to expect — that's all."

His eyes followed the TV as Jim Hawkins raced through the sky on his airboard — one of his favorite parts of the movie — and yet, he didn't smile, nor did his eyes light up. It was as if she'd damaged his spirits. Holly frowned.

"We don't have to talk about it now," she reasoned, trying to brush off the topic.

But Michael brought her in closer and exhaled. "Well, there's not much to tell. It's just my mom, her husband, and my half-sister — my brother lives up in New York, where he runs his shoe business… Everybody lives everywhere. The only one who stayed in Scranton with me was Charlotte."

Expression falling, Holly glanced back at the screen and muttered, "That's sad."

"Well, we used to meet on holidays, before Jeff took Mom to Florida," Michael said, as if this somehow made up for the distance. "Geez, I haven't seen Nathan in years…"

Holly could relate to the pain of an estranged sibling — but an entirely separated family was a novel concept. And she couldn't imagine spending holidays apart from her parents. Even when her mother was a complete pain in the ass, they would always be family.

"You know," Holly said, after a moment. "We could wait and get everyone together for Thanksgiving, if that's better. I could meet them then, all at once."

" _What's the matter? Cat got your-_ _ **yaap**_ _!"_

Michael spared a little chuckle at the screen, which made Holly smile. She wiggled her toes into the cushions of the couch and sighed comfortably.

After a moment of silence, Michael shifted beneath her, and gestured toward the table. "Can you hand me my phone?"

Holly raised an eyebrow, but reached over to grab it for him. She handed it up to him, and as he turned it on, he held it out for her to look on with him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Calling my mom," he explained simply.

" _We apprehended your son operating a solar vehicle in a restri-"_

"What?" Holly asked, sitting up straighter. "Why?"

"So we can talk about visiting," Michael decided. Once the number was dialed, he reached for the remote to pause the movie.

"But I told you, we can just wait until the holidays," she reminded him, her hand inching up his chest comfortably.

"Nah," he said anyway, and set it to speakerphone, filling the room with ringing.

Holly wrinkled her eyebrows. "But it's already nine o'clock. Won't it be late there?"

The ringing came to a stop, though, and Holly's mouth snapped shut. She looked up at him widely, waiting.

" _Hello?"_ came a female voice, light and a bit abrupt.

"Hi, Mom," Michael greeted, a bit nervously.

" _Michael?"_ she asked, sounding surprised. " _It's almost midnight. Are you all right? Why are you calling me?"_

Holly bit her lip at the less than relaxed response.

Michael chuckled and replied, "No, I'm fine. I know it's late, but I just have some really… fantastic news. And I wanted to share it with you."

There was a lull on the line before his mother replied, " _That's great, honey. What is it?"_

He smiled at Holly. "Well, Mom… I'm getting married."

Then came another lull. Holly nervously tugged at her hair.

" _You… you found_ _ **another**_ _woman?"_

Holly's mouth opened at the question, her eyes landing on Michael's. She'd been under the impression that he'd told his mother about her, maybe just once…

Sensing her confusion, Michael quickly muted the phone and whispered, "I don't talk to her very much."

"When's the last time you called her?" she whispered.

"I don't know… Christmas?"

Her eyes widened. " _Michael_."

" _Hello? Did the line cut out?"_

"I'm here, Mom," he said reflexively — and then he remembered to unmute the phone and repeated, "I'm here. Yes, I found someone."

Mrs. Scott didn't respond at first, as if taking this information in. " _Really? You're not pranking me again, are you?"_

" _No_ , Mom," Michael replied before she could continue, and sent a half-smile at Holly. "I found my soulmate. I proposed to her, actually, and we're engaged now."

" _Seriously?"_

"Seriously!" he insisted, chuckling. "Her name's Holly. She worked at Dunder Mifflin with me."

"… _Okay…"_

Holly's head shot up at the sound, eyes wide, unsure of whether to be offended or concerned. She mouthed " _what_?" to Michael, but he didn't answer her.

"Mom, I'm telling the truth."

" _You were 'engaged' to a Holly a few years ago, remember?"_

And _this_ threw Holly for a loop, and Michael was obviously flustered.

"I was- okay, I can explain that in- but this time it's for real, okay?" he stuttered, glancing between the phone and Holly. "She's right here if you wanna talk to her."

" _Yes, I'd like to. Put her on."_

Then Michael handed the phone to her, without even asking her how she felt about this. Holly's jaw dropped at the suddenness of the situation, but she accepted the phone.

"Hello, Mrs. Scott," Holly said, biting her lip. "It's Holly, Michael's fiancee. It's… nice to meet you."

There was no response, even after many seconds of prolonged silence. Holly nervously fidgeted with Michael's shirt, trying not to bite every inch of her lower lip off…

"You see, Mom?" he asked.

" _Is that a sex worker?"_ his mother whispered.

Michael nearly dropped the phone. " _Mom_!"

Holly just inched back from the phone, eyes wide.

" _Well, I'm sorry, honey! It's like the boy who cried wolf. You call me up every six months telling me you're engaged-"_

"Mom, would you just listen to me?"

" _I am listening, sweetie. I'm always listening, you know. If you just wanted a reason to talk to me, you didn't have-"_

"I'm telling you the truth, and you're embarrassing me!"

His mother paused, and Holly wondered if this were starting to sink in, finally.

" _Do you want to come stay with me for a little bit?"_

Michael's eyes screwed shut. " _Mom…_ "

* * *

 _ **Watership Down and Treasure Planet - both heavy references to my friend at the time, so bear with that. Also, we're getting into the portion of the story I remember best: introducing Michael's family. That was an interesting process I'll talk more about later.**_

 _ **Also, in response to Littlekidlover218's clever question:** Wait, what happens if there's water at the top of the stairs?_

 ** _Answer:_** _**sober, they try to work up the nerve but wind up looking for another entrance. Drunk, they try to take it side-by-side and both wind up falling - one of a few couples' visits to the emergency room. I love them but their dumbass energy is dangerous.**_


	76. I Call You Now

**Chapter LXXVI**

 **I Call You Now**

* * *

 _I call you now,_

 _To tell you I'm thinking of you…_

\- "Everything Trying" by Damien Jurado.

* * *

Ultimately, it was Holly's decision. But Michael's heart was really set on a bikini.

 _ **You:**_

 _Why WOULDN'T you though? when you're blessed with such a cute lil bellybooton?_

And if it took his entire workday to convince her, he would gladly take that challenge.

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _I don't know! I just feel like I'd be uncomfortable in public, practically naked… I'm not a teenager anymore._

 _ **You:**_

 _you are WAY hotter than a teenager, so, logically you HAVE to wear one_

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _I don't understand the logic, but I'm glad you feel that way._

Michael at first didn't realize that she was referencing his comment about teenagers… but it reached him with time.

So he'd called his mom. That had happened.

Michael made a point of _never_ calling his mom — not because they had a bad relationship, but because she wasn't great for phone conversation, and also, one time Jeff answered the phone, and Michael had to hang up. But because he and Holly were now being _honest_ , Holly had admitted that she was ready and willing to meet his parents. And he couldn't let this rare opportunity go to waste.

It was rare because no one he had _ever dated_ had wanted to meet his family. Most of his _family_ didn't want to get together with "the family". They all hated each other.

But anyway, because his mom was a proactive woman, and also in total disbelief that Michael was even _in_ a relationship, they had set up a visit for this weekend, which was sudden. Holly had booked them a flight down to Florida for Friday night, and they would, apparently, be spending the weekend at his mom's house.

Holly seemed really excited about this trip, which Michael knew was only out of innocence. She couldn't know what hell she was facing.

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _How about something like this?_

Michael waited for the picture to load, and grimaced. He instantly typed back:

 _ **You:**_

 _You can NOT wear a one-piece._

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Oh come on! It's cute!_

 _ **You:**_

 _The bikini is also cute._

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _The bikini is revealing._

 _ **You:**_

 _2 for 2._

Michael comforted himself with the idea that he and Holly could spend a majority of their trip exploring Florida, and Florida beaches. Literally _all_ he wanted from this whole disaster was _one beach day_ with bikini-Holly. He'd already thought it all out in his head. He just had to _convince her_ …

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _How would you feel if I asked you to wear a speedo? Huh? Would you do THAT?_

He froze before typing, trying to picture this in his head — and he pursed his lips.

 _ **You:**_

 _Would it turn you on?_

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _What if it did?_

 _ **You:**_

 _but would it_

Holly failed to respond for a few seconds, as if considering this.

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _I'll try a couple on when we go shopping tomorrow, IF you'll try on some speedos for my entertainment…_

" _Yesss-_ ahh!" Michael shouted as he flew back in his rolling chair. He typed:

 _ **You:**_

 _YESSSSSSSS and you know what else we could consider too_

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Yes, I know that there are nude beaches in FL._

 _ **You:**_

 _They're clothing OPTIONAL so we could just go topless…_

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _No, I will not attend a nude beach in FL._

 _ **You:**_

 _:( pleeeeeeeeeeeeasseeeeeeee? Pretty pleasse?_

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Did you just subliminally make me think of your ass?_

 _ **You:**_

 _I would never._

Michael looked up from his phone for the first time in many minutes when someone knocked on his office door — and he already knew from the knocking pattern that it was Ginny. "Come in!"

The door opened, and Ginny just peeked her head in. "Hey," she greeted casually. "You said to come knock on your door at eleven."

Ginny had been helping him out today, since his mind was so scattered with planning that he couldn't even remember _asking_ her to do this. "Did I say why?" he asked, squinting at her.

Ginny shook her head. "No, you didn't. You said you'd remember."

Michael pressed his lips together. This was entirely like him, and yet, no memory.

"Thanks," Michael said, and waved her off. As she shut the door, he turned his attention back to his phone, and texted Holly:

 _ **You:**_

 _What was I supposed to remember today at eleven?_

While he waited for a response, he moved the mouse on his computer, bringing the screen to life. Curiously, his Skype icon was blinking.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced down at it.

 _ **Holly Pocket**_

 _Your video chat?_

Then he recalled. He was video chatting Scranton today.

It had been a few weeks since Michael had contacted the guys down at Dunder Mifflin, and with all that had been happening, he could forgive himself for nearly forgetting the date. It hadn't helped that they'd just recently stopped chatting on weekends and shifted to weekdays, while everyone was at their respective offices…

And they were already calling him, so Michael checked his reflection off the framed picture of the Dunder Mifflin Christmas card, and accepted the call.

The internet stalled for a moment — and Michael was concerned, because he didn't know the policy on using work computers for non-work activities, though he was pretty sure it was frowned upon. He could always switch to his phone, but it was difficult to fit everyone from the office into his tiny screen…

" _Hello? Hellooo?"_

The screen was still black, but Andy Bernard's voice filled the room. Michael squinted. "Hellooo? This is Michael Scott — do you copy?"

" _Hellooooo? I do not see you. I can't- are you there?"_

"Roger that. I am here. Can you hear me?"

"… _I can't get this to work."_

" _-let me, please, just stop, stop touching things,"_ Kelly interrupted, and a keyboard clacked loudly over the microphone. " _The picture should be up."_

"I can hear you guys!" Michael said, raising his voice. "Can you hear me? Hello?"

" _Pam, can you scoot over a little bit?"_

" _Would it help?"_ joked Angela, from a distance away from the microphone.

Clicking a few things on his own screen, he asked, "Guys? Could it be a problem on my end?"

" _You didn't give Skype camera access, Andy. Have you never video chatted before?"_

" _Yes, I have! It's just, this is a new computer for me, okay? Don't yell at me."_

Then the screen lit up with the image of five faces looking into the camera — or four faces, rather, because while Andy, pregnant Pam, Angela, and Kelly were focusing on setting up the video chat, only the top of Erin's red hair was visible as she sat on the floor, doing something indeterminable. " _There it is!"_ Kelly exclaimed, smiling at herself.

" _Is it on?"_ Erin asked from down below.

"It's on," Michael announced, grinning. "Hey, guys!"

" _Hi, Michael,"_ Pam greeted, seated in the only chair in front of the computer — stomach round from what Michael could only remember as probably the second trimester of the pregnancy, _probably._ Everyone else stood around her, except Erin, whose head now popped up at attention.

" _Greetings, sensei,"_ Andy said, too, from over Pam's shoulder, leaning on the desk. " _I have much to learn from you, old, wizened master."_

Michael wrinkled his eyebrows. "O-kay… Hi, Erin. Hi, Angela. How are you lovely ladies this morning?"

" _One second!"_ Erin called from down below.

Angela, on the other hand, smiled, and uncrossed her arms. " _I'm doing well, thank you. The Senator and I have been very busy lately."_

Michael nodded. "Oh, okay."

And Angela continued to look at him, as though he were supposed to have a different response. She cleared her throat and added, " _Would you like to know why?"_

" _ **Up**_ _-bup-bup-bup-badoo!"_ Andy interrupted the exchange, diving into the camera view again and visibly making Pam uncomfortable. " _We talked about this, actually. My news comes first. I called it."_

Eyebrows raised, Michael responded, "You both have news?"

" _The Senator and I-"_

" _Yeah-ep, yep, but mine is going first,"_ Andy protested before Angela could get the words out. Beneath him, Pam shifted awkwardly in her chair. " _Michael, I would like to announce-"_

"Andy, dude," Michael cut him off, tilting his head at him. "Can you- you're pushing on pregnant Pam. You're gonna squish Baby- could you, yeah, just stand up. There you go." He nodded when Andy stood up straight and out of Pam's way.

" _Sorry,"_ Andy said with a lowered chin. " _Anywho_ -"

"Pam!" he exclaimed, now fixated on her belly. "You're so big! Turn around — let me see!"

" _She grew three whole sizes,"_ Kelly agreed with a nod. Pam's head shot up in protest.

" _You don't know that! Did you measure me?"_

" _I eyeballed it, Pam. It's not hard."_

" _I can see that,"_ Angela remarked from the side as she looked over Pam's stomach. " _Oh, but it's not your_ _ **fault**_ _, Pam. Everyone has their different reaction to pregnancy. You gain weight and swell up — I-"_

" _Ex_ _ **cuse**_ _me, but I was talking!"_ Andy shouted, wearing an exasperated smile. " _Michael, I-"_

" _It's done! It's done,"_ Erin burst out from offscreen, and suddenly flew up from the floor. With her, she brought a large piece of pink cardstock, and awkwardly, loudly turned it around to face the camera. She shoved it in front of Pam's face so that Michael could see it: a sign that read, in glitter, "WE LOVE YOU, MICHAEL!" Erin waved it around happily. " _I've been working on this all day!"_

Michael's eyes widened at the sight, and he laughed in surprise. "Aw! That's so- it's like you're my fanclub! I like that. I love that. Thank you."

" _I would've helped, but I couldn't get glitter on this new,_ _ **badass jacket**_ _! Oh!"_ Kelly shouted, and Erin pulled the sign away so that Michael could see Kelly as she modeled the leather jacket. " _Suck on that, Andy!"_

" _I will suck on that,"_ Andy muttered, leaning on the desk irritably. " _At home, where I will have my own way-cooler jacket as soon as it is delivered."_

" _Just admit that my jacket is cooler than any of your jackets!"_

" _I would, if it were true, but it's not, so…"_ Andy said, shrugging. " _Can we_ _ **please**_ _just get back_ _to my news?"_

" _I would have helped with the sign, too,"_ Angela said, as if the topic were still going, " _if I weren't so_ _ **pregnant**_ _, you know? It's just- I'm exhausted all the time, now. It's crazy."_

"You're pregnant?" Michael asked instantly, jaw dropped. "With a Senator?"

" _A state senator!"_ Oscar shouted in the distance, and they all looked up at the sound.

"Hi, Oscar!" Michael shouted.

He didn't respond at first, but all eyes were still on him. " _Hello, Michael,"_ Oscar eventually surrendered.

"Why don't you come over and talk to me?"

" _I would, but I'm_ _ **really**_ _busy at the mo-"_

" _Robert California appointed me as the new Regional Manager!"_ Andy shouted over both of them, and grinned widely, almost crazily. " _ **I'm**_ _your replacement! Did you see that coming? Me, of all people?"_

Michael's mouth opened to respond to that one, too, but his brain stalled.

On the other side of the computer, Andy stood patiently, expression still fantastic with enthusiasm, and Erin, Kelly, and Angela were silent as they waited for Michael's response. Pam placed her hand on Andy's and muttered something Michael couldn't hear. Michael just blinked at Andy's frozen face.

And his gaze eventually lowered to the corner of the screen, to look at himself — his own stunned expression as he took in this information, which shouldn't have been so surprising to him, except it was, _really_ surprising. It wasn't because Andy wasn't capable, because he probably was, but still…

They'd already replaced him.

"Okay," Michael said, at first not aware of what he was saying. He swallowed. "Yeah, wow! Congratulations. That's a great- step, you're… wow. You're gonna be great, at that."

" _Mmmm-thank you, sir,"_ Andy said, with a sigh of relief. " _I… will_ _ **not**_ _do as well as you, by any means, but I will try to honor your… memory…"_

 _Memory_ hit him like a ton of bricks. They thought of him as a memory.

" _So Michael, how are things with you and Holly?"_ Pam intervened, breaking the awkward silence. She smiled into the camera. " _Has she found any work yet?"_

Grateful for the change of topic, Michael raised his eyebrows and replied, "She has, actually! She's working here at the DNR with me."

" _Wow! That's great,"_ Pam said. " _I bet you missed working together, huh?"_

Michael smiled at that, looking away. He lowered his voice to whisper, "Actually, we're not _supposed_ to be working together. My boss doesn't know we're engaged, and that's how it has to stay for now."

" _Oh my god,"_ Kelly interrupted, and dropped a hand on the back of Pam's chair to lean forward. " _That is so romantic, like an office-Romeo and Juliet."_

" _The Senator offered me a job at his office, too, but I couldn't do it. I knew I'd be too much of a distraction for him."_

" _You should have sex in your office."_

" _Kelly!"_ Angela scolded.

" _You should do it, and then every time you go into your office, you'll think about it."_

Michael glanced up at the door, biting his lip… and he nodded. "That _would_ be pretty sexy."

" _Oh-hokay, but_ _ **don't**_ _do that,"_ Pam reminded him. " _But how are you two doing? How's the new apartment?"_

"Uh, good," Michael replied, nodding his head. "Going good — we're moved in, completely, and stuff. We're making progress on the wedding plans, also, so that's pretty exciting-"

" _Has Holly chosen a maid of honor yet?"_ Kelly interrupted. " _Because I am an expert on bachelorette parties and I know a place to get some fine-ass male entertainment-"_

" _Okay, stop. Baby does not need to hear this,"_ Angela stopped her there as she held her flat stomach and stepped out of frame. Kelly muttered something once she was gone, which Michael could not hear.

Upon this, Michael cleared his throat, glancing over toward Holly's office. "No, we haven't figured that stuff out yet. But we're gonna get there soon! We're pushing the wedding up a little closer, so we'll have some news within-"

" _Sooner?"_ Erin asked, eyes widening. " _How soon? Do I need to buy my dress?"_

" _Sooner as in…"_ Andy added — and he glanced away from the camera, as if in deep thought. " _Like, you're booking the venue and the entertainment? Are you doing that, yet?"_

" _What prompted you to do that?"_ Pam asked, the only person with a non-selfish question. " _Is there… Are you-"_

" _Are you pregnant? Oh my_ _ **god**_ _."_

"No, no!" Michael assured them, holding up his hands. "We're not- she isn't pregnant, no. It's just that… we started this new thing, where we're both completely honest with each other about everything, and Holly told me that she wanted a sooner wedding — and I liked the idea. So we're shooting for November, December-ish."

" _In Colorado?"_ Erin asked, sounding skeptical. " _Won't that be pretty cold?"_

"Well, we're thinking indoors," he explained. Smiling down at his hands, he added, "And honestly, it could be ten degrees and I would not care. I just can't wait to be married… you know?"

" _Wait, Michael…"_

"And then when I get a phone call," Michael continued, and picked his cell phone up, holding it to his face, "I can say, 'sorry, I need to take this — it's my wife.'"

" _You're gonna be completely honest about_ _ **everything**_ _?"_ Pam confirmed, brow furrowed. " _Everything?"_

Without even considering her doubt, he bobbed his head. "Full disclosure, Pam. And it's really helping us! I think you and Jim should consider it."

" _So you're going to tell her that you ran over Meredith with your car?"_

"W- Pam," Michael said bluntly, lowering his chin. "I… would- yes, I'd eventually get to that. I'm starting with more recent things first."

" _What about Scott's Tots?"_

"Hey, Andy, shut it," he shot back cheerily, and tried to force a smile. "I will tell her when I tell her, but yeah, I'd get to that, too."

Then Pam narrowed her eyes at the camera, and leaned forward. " _Kidnapping the pizza delivery kid. '07."_

" _Yes,_ Pam," Michael insisted with a sigh. "I had good reason for that. I don't even- that's not even a secret. It's just never come up."

Behind her, Kelly started to giggle. " _What about that really stupid time you drove your_ _ **car**_ _into a lake-"_

"Okay, guys! Yes. Everything, eventually, I will tell her." Michael admitted, a bit loudly, putting an end to the "Michael-is-so-stupid" show. "I want _no_ secrets by the time of the wedding, so if you want to compile a list of all the dumb things I've done-"

" _Can we?"_

Michael stopped mid-sentence to look at Pam, who was dead-serious as it seemed, eyebrow raised and gaze narrowed. She waited patiently for his response, as did the others on camera.

"No," he finally said, expression serious. "But you know what you can do, all you ladies with your opinions? You can help me with something I _actually_ need help with…"

" _I am not a lady."_

"Sure, Andy," Michael muttered as he unlocked his phone and opened his pictures. He held it up for all to see. "Expert opinion: is this bikini too slutty for Florida?"

" _Absolutely,"_ Erin said right away.

Pam wrinkled her forehead, though. " _I don't think so. Maybe?"_

" _Nothing is too slutty for Florida, Pam. Nothing."_

" _I don't know why you are asking me, because I'm not a female. I am male."_

"That's an even answer. I need one more answer, people," Michael said, leaning into the camera. "Get someone else in here — not Angela."

" _Andy, we know you're not a girl, stupid. Just give your opinion."_

" _I'm not stupid, okay? I just don't like to be treated like just because I hang out with women, I am therefore a woman."_

" _And what's so bad about being a woman, asshole?"_

Michael sighed. "You guys-"

" _Nothing is wrong with being a woman, Kelly. I am an honorary female, I'll have you know. I'm just not a_ _ **lady**_ _."_

" _That is so sexist."_

" _Okay, I'm just- if in a hypothetical, I_ _ **were**_ _a female, I would not be a lady. I'd be an independent, managerial woman who doesn't care about manners and being ladylike-"_

" _Oh, barf! You are not a feminist."_

"You guys? Please? Hello?"

" _You can't just tell someone they're not a feminist."_

" _Uh, pay attention, 'cause I just did."_

"All right," Michael said, and grabbed the mouse. "I'm telling her you all said 'yes' to the bikini. Thank you!"

" _Michael-"_

He closed out the window before they could stop him — because as much as he missed them, they could still get on his nerves.

* * *

 _ **Last 1/4th of the story commencing. That's some wild shit.**_


	77. We May Only Have Tonight

**Chapter LXXVII**

 **We May Only Have Tonight**

* * *

 _We may only have tonight,_

 _But 'til the morning sun, you're mine…_

 _All mine._

\- "Rhythm of Love" by the Plain White T's.

* * *

"Come on!"

"Michael! We only have an hour before we have to go."

"A _whole hour_ ," Michael insisted desperately. In the reflection in the mirror, Holly caught his head moving from the back of her neck around to her cheek, but she tilted away just in time. "C'mon. This is our last chance for the whole weekend."

Holly was glad he was already clear on that. She would under _no_ circumstances have sex while they were staying with Michael's parents. His mom still believed Holly was a prostitute, and would not be convinced otherwise. Being caught in the act was the last thing her image needed.

"Maybe if you had finished packing, we could have," Holly remarked without looking at him, as she dug through her drawer for her most modest blouse…

"I'm almost done," he assured her from behind — where he was currently wrapped around her, head lowered to tempt her with little neck kisses. He dropped another kiss under her ear and pulled back to whisper, "Pretty please?"

Holly smiled at the feeling of his lips brushing along her ear, but she resisted nonetheless, stepping out of his embrace to carry her clothes over to the suitcase. "We'll be home again in two days," she said, as she bent over to tuck her shirts away. She peeked up at him to add, "Can you really not wait _two days_?"

"I could, but I don't _want_ to," Michael complained. When Holly straightened up, he sneaked his arms around her again and kissed her jaw, drawing a long sigh out of her. She succumbed to it for a quiet moment, letting him work his way down the plane of her neck with wet, affectionate kisses…

The second they'd walked into the apartment this evening, he'd been on a mission to distract her — and it wasn't fair, because he knew it was on her mind, too. Her period was finally out of the way and the moment they were in the clear, they were packing up to spend a chaste weekend with his suspicious mother.

All Holly wanted was to make a good impression, and Michael was playing against her weaknesses. He _knew_ she wanted him. It wasn't fair.

"Michael-"

"Mmm-hm?" he hummed against her skin…

"If you let me _pack_ ," Holly said, turning her head to look at him seriously, "then we might have time. _Maybe_."

Michael frowned, and pressed another kiss to her cheek. "We have time _now_ ," he argued, just before kissing at the corner of her mouth. He drew back to whisper, "Just fifteen minutes?"

Holly couldn't fight a small grin as his nose tickled her cheek — but she set a hand on his chest and replied firmly, "I don't want to forget anything. I'm already nervous about meeting your family; I can't let anything make that worse."

And she walked away again, crossing over to the bathroom while Michael stood in her wake, an indignant expression on his face. He watched her as she turned the light on, but she focused on packing.

"What's there to be nervous about?" he asked, and plopped on the bed in exasperation. "My mom's nice, and Jeff at least pretends to be. And you're my _fiancee_. They have to love you."

"They _do_ have to love me," Holly said, her voice echoing in the bathroom walls. She collected her toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as Michael's — he really hadn't packed anything. "Which is why I'm nervous. If they don't like me, that's a huge problem."

"Why wouldn't they like you?" he questioned. "You're the cutest person in the world! You have Marilyn Monroe charm!"

Holly chuckled. "Well, that's your opinion. They may not feel the same way."

Michael didn't seem to have a comeback for that, and stared up at the ceiling. "If they don't, then they're just stupid."

She raised her eyebrows at him, and stepped out of the bathroom. "Plenty of people don't like me, Michael. They can't _all_ be stupid."

"Well, I've only known two people who didn't like you," he shot back, and sat up to look at her. "Jan, and Todd Packer. And they were both asses, so…"

"Packer didn't like me?" Holly asked, eying him in the mirror. "He was always nice to my face."

Michael shrugged it off. "He said you were uptight. But hey, my mom thinks you're a prostitute, so that's obviously not gonna be an issue with her."

It was probably better that she didn't show how much that bothered her — both that his mother couldn't believe Michael could have a relationship and that she'd judged Holly over a phone call. But she let the issue pass by and instead asked, "And what's Jeff like?"

Instantly, Michael groaned. Holly glanced over her shoulder at him.

"I know you hate him…"

" _Hate_ him."

"But that can't be all there is to know about him."

" _You_ …" he began, and dropped back down onto the mattress, "are gonna make me talk about my wicked stepdad, and you're not even gonna have sex with me! That's a weak deal, my friend."

Holly smiled at that, and now searched the dresser for comfy plane clothes. "I just figured I should know what to hate about him. So I don't get fooled by all his _lies_."

"Yeah, well," Michael muttered in agreement. Again, he sat up, and watched her as she bent over the lower drawers — she caught him in it and he didn't even pretend not to be doing it. He sighed. "Jeff is a big fancy fireman, which is part of the reason why everyone's afraid to talk about how _awful_ he is — because he 'saves lives' so we have to respect him."

She tilted her head as she examined her sweatshirt for stains. "Saving lives is a pretty good trait in a person."

"Uh-huh, but he _stinks_!"

Holly paused, then, raising an eyebrow at him in the mirror. "He smells bad?"

"No! He smells like fire and men's cologne- but no, he _stinks_. As a person!"

His tone of voice tickled her, and she accidentally giggled — but the immediate silence from behind her suggested that this was a mistake. She turned to peek at him.

He looked at her seriously, and asked, "You think this is funny?"

" _No_ ," Holly said in a low voice, in the middle of a laugh. Michael narrowed his eyes at her.

"He talks about politics," he continued with spite. "And he makes jokes, about it, that no one understands but him — and my _mom_ , of course, because he basically turned her into a female version of him, except not a gigantic ugly monster. And _that_ \- he just- everyone… thinks he's so _hot_ and _sexy_ , but he's really not. He has a bland face. Very type A. Nothing to write home about."

"I'm sure he does," Holly agreed, trying not to smile at his cute pouting. "He sounds… awful."

"He made my mom a fitness buff, too," Michael complained. "She's so obsessed that it just comes natural to her now. It's all she thinks about."

Collecting a pair of soft jeans, she began to unbutton her blouse quietly. "It's a lifestyle. Some people take it really seriously…"

"Well, that would be fine, if she weren't trying to spread it around on everyone else. In fact, she's probably gonna talk to us both about losing weight — but don't take it to heart. She just has _no_ social skills."

Holly's eyes widened at that, and she tilted her head down to hide a grin. "I'll be patient, then," she mumbled, biting her lip.

Michael was quiet for a moment as he shifted his weight on the bed, inching toward the edge of the mattress. Then he added, "I think your body is already perfect…"

She exhaled slowly, turning away from him as she tried to finish off her buttons. "Michael-"

"We have fifty minutes."

"I don't want to be late," Holly argued — and when he came up behind her, she tried to brace herself against his warm gravity. "And I _definitely_ don't wanna be in the middle of something when Heather knocks on the door."

"That's not even a problem, because she won't be here for _fifty more minutes_ …"

"What if she's early?"

Michael set his hands on her waist, turning her the rest of the way around to face him. He tilted his head as his voice lowered; "Heather's _never_ early. We'll be lucky if she even remembers to come."

"But you don-"

" _Just_ …" he interrupted, and he ran his hands down over her hips smoothly. His forehead gingerly rested against hers, his eyes looking into hers from only inches away — and Holly took a deep breath, prepared to argue back, because she had a plan to follow and she _strongly_ disagreed-

"Just let me make love to you," Michael finished casually, his voice low and a little hoarse and his lips slightly grinning and his eyes staring straight at hers, his breath tickling her parted lips seductively…

Holly blinked at him, inhaling sharply, shoulders caving at the comforting, simplistic, _sensual_ way he said those words…

Her mouth opened just half an inch and he instantly dove in to kiss her, warmly and softly at first, so that her whole body melted into his embrace and her eyes closed lazily, lips parting to deepen the kiss. Michael accepted this invitation, pressing into her mouth, head making that sudden drop to her height and hands pulling her up closer, but simultaneously pushing her back, until her hips landed against the dresser-

She jolted in surprise, but relaxed back into the kiss, a noise escaping from her as she drew his lips in harder, tasting him completely — and he groaned, and pressed his hips flush against hers so that she could fully understand just what he needed. It became clear to her, so much that she felt lightheaded from it.

Then Michael picked up the pace as his hands found their way to the last few buttons of her blouse, which he frantically began to undo while she sighed anxiously into his mouth. When the last of them were undone, he tugged the shirt off her arms and let it drop to the floor. And suddenly, he pulled out of the kiss.

Holly looked up at him quickly, breaths shallow now as she watched him look over her. His eyes were busy, bouncing between her lips and her now-exposed bra and her eyes, and he swallowed — and he huffed a noise that sounded both anxious and hungry, and Holly had to catch her breath before he caught her up in another kiss…

And he did, strongly, head lowering and chin lifting as he melted into the kiss, groaning and eliciting something similar from her when his hands pulled her toward him, and he took that first step backward to the bed; and Holly followed at first, stumbling into him, allowing his fingers to fumble with the clasp of her bra along the way-

" _Hmm-Mich_ ael…"

Michael huffed lustfully, snapping the clasp out-

"Mich- _honey_ , I can't," Holly announced once she'd pulled out of the kiss, no matter how her body disagreed. "We have to be on time. I can't."

" _Why_ are you so nervous about this?" he asked between heavy breaths, opening his eyes just enough to look at her lips. He started back at the kiss as he added, "It's just a flight-"

"It's a flight that your _parents_ are picking us up from," she pointed out anxiously, and pressed her lips together, _hard_. "I don't wanna… inconvenience them, I don't want them to _think of me_ as someone who likes to inconvenience people…"

"Hey, hey, hey, honey," Michael interrupted, gently as always despite his obvious sexual frustration. His hands came up to her face, pulling her hair back from her eyes. "Don't worry about it, all right? My family is going to _love_ you."

Holly sighed, unsatisfied with this answer, and looked back and forth between his eyes. "I just- I don't wanna mess this up, you know? I want us to be a big, happy family, and I want them to trust me with you. It just needs to be perfect."

"And it will be!" he assured her with a smile. "Because _you're_ the best person I could ever bring home to my family. Plus, my mom's been in a great mood since they finished their house, and Jeff's just- he's gonna love your boobs… 'cause he's a pervert, but not in a way that he'd harass you, so don't worry…"

She cracked a smile at that, blinking up at him. His gaze on her was more than affectionate.

"Trust me," Michael said finally — and his forehead dropped on hers, as he moved in for another kiss. "This is gonna be good."

* * *

 _ **Sorry for the lateness - enjoy.**_


	78. Life Makes Love Look Hard

**Chapter LXXXVIII**

 **Life Makes Love Look Hard**

* * *

 _Don't you worry your pretty little mind;_

 _People throw rocks at things that shine,_

 _And life makes love look hard…_

 _The stakes are high, the water's rough,_

 _But this love is ours._

\- "Ours" by Taylor Swift.

* * *

This was the second time today that Michael struggled to get Holly to take off her clothes — but this time wasn't nearly as fun, because instead of fooling around, he was trying to keep her from dying of heatstroke.

"Ma'am, it _is_ still mid-eighties out there…"

"See, d'you hear him?" Michael mumbled down at her, and watched her closed eyes for movement. "He said you're gonna get hot in that. Why don't you take it off?"

Holly just turned her head into his shoulder and made no sign of recognition.

Michael sighed in surrender, looking up into the rearview mirror at the front of the vehicle. The cab driver simply chuckled at the curiosity and continued driving without another word.

So he settled in under her warm, limp body and kept an eye out the window for a change from scenic surroundings to neighborhood area — because they were on their way to his mother's house.

And Holly was still sound asleep.

He imagined the restlessness of last night, combined with the stress from this morning and the sex from this evening, had been the culprit; but she'd been lively and awake the entire plane ride, excited about meeting his parents no matter how late they'd be arriving. And they had touched down at ten o'clock at night.

Now, only thirty minutes later, his fiancee was out cold and it was _his_ turn to start freaking out.

It was amazing to think that Holly was nervous — or that she had been nervous, before he had expertly talked her down, and also put out — when her job was so easy. All she had to do was _meet_ Mom and Jeff, and they would instantly fall in love with her. Michael had already met his parents, and they weren't crazy about him!

Or they liked him, but not as much as they liked his siblings.

Just thinking about this gave him the strong desire to eat his feelings; and he and Holly had just _happened_ to pick up two gigantic iced cookies while they waited for their flight to board. They were supposed to be victory cookies for after they got through the night with his family…

But he just didn't care enough.

So he reached down to the floorboard for Holly's purse, careful not to move her too much on the one side, and dug blindly through the contents until he found one of the two little bags. He could feel the driver's eyes on him in the rearview as Michael shuffled to unwrap the cookie, but he didn't care. He was eating this cookie because he had a lot of stress right now.

"You-"

Michael dropped the hell out of that cookie and sat up before anything could be seen. "What?" he asked quickly. He instantly gave up on the cookie. He would _not_ binge-smash a cookie into his mouth in the presence of another grown man.

The driver faltered, surprised at Michael's reaction, but started over. "You two look like a nice couple. Are you honeymooning?"

Michael blinked, and then huffed an anxious laugh, looking out the window. "Oh, _god_ I wish. No, no. We're actually- I'm introducing her to my parents tonight. We're staying the weekend with them."

"Hopefully not in those sleeves," he remarked with a smile. "I guess you're from somewhere cooler."

"Oh, yeah, definitely." Michael nodded. "Colorado. Originally from Pennsylvania, but uh, we just moved about three months ago."

"Wow," the man said — and now Michael was wishing he'd asked for his name. "Work or family?"

The vehicle rolled to a stop at an intersection, at the corner of which stood a familiar sign — familiar from the one time Michael had visited his mother since the move down to Florida. This was the turn into Mom's neighborhood. They were very close now.

"Uh, family," he replied, watching the turn signal blinking on the dim road. "Hers, not mine, obviously — since mine are here. I actually… uh, how close are we? Should I start waking her up?"

"Yep, we're uh, we're getting there," the man informed him. The light finally changed, and they made the turn. "Just a few minutes now…"

Michael sensed a hint of something in the man's voice, which bothered him a little bit. So before he woke Holly, he cleared his throat and glanced up in the mirror. "You must think it's weird, that I don't know where my parents live. I don't. I used to, but I don't now."

"I don't think it's weird," he replied, shaking his head. But Michael could tell he did.

"I would know it if they hadn't moved so recently," Michael continued defensively. "It's just that… our family doesn't get together much, and when they do, I don't always _go_. But it's only been a few… three years… since I saw them."

The driver said absolutely nothing.

Now, he was pissing Michael off. "Hey," he said as he leaned forward to look at the guy. "That's just how my family is, okay? We don't meet up as often as other people's families do, but that's okay. We're still close!"

"I'm sure you are," the driver said, and sounded genuine.

"We talk on the phone!" Michael said. He sat back irritably. "We let each other know about life events and stuff. Here I am in Florida, spreading the good cheer about my new life! That's more than my brother does — I'll tell you that!"

"Sir, I didn't mean to offend you-"

"Well, you did offend me," Michael finished, and turned to look out the window, muttering, "asshole. 'S none of your business, asshole."

And Michael wanted to indulge in his secret dream of telling a service worker to "look out for your tip because you might not see it," but Holly handled tips now, so he didn't have that power anymore.

It was around this time that Michael did, for the first time, recognize something outside the window — and it was his mom's street.

He sat up then, arm coming tighter around Holly's sleeping frame only to give her a shake. "Honey," he whispered, trying not to sound urgent. "Wakey-wakey, we're here."

" _Hm_?" she breathed, head turning to reveal eyes squeezed-shut. He instantly smiled, despite the weight of the driver's eyes in the rearview window.

"We're on their street," Michael repeated. As she looked around, he tugged the side of her shirt into place and kissed her mussed hair. "You slept the whole ride."

Holly blinked at him, and then looked up at the window to find that the car had slowed down now. "Oh," she seemed to realize, sitting up straight. She looked back at him quickly. "How's my hair?"

"Good," he answered instinctively.

"Makeup?"

"Good," was also another instinct, and he fought back a grin. She looked so cute after sleeping, with her eyes a little squinty and her cheeks a little pink. "You need a little something, though."

Holly wrinkled her eyebrows at him, already fixing her hair. "What?"

Then Michael leaned forward and kissed her nose. When he pulled back, her cheeks were more than a little pink. She pressed her lips together to keep from grinning widely.

"Okay," she breathed, as the car came to an eventual stop on the side of the road. "Is there anything I can do to make a good first impression?"

"Shh…"

Michael kissed her again, on the lips this time — softly and slowly and warmly despite the blasting air conditioner trying to freeze them to death. Holly's shoulders relaxed, and she smiled into the kiss.

He pulled back after a moment, then, just to whisper, "You should probably take that sweatshirt off though. It's almost eighty degrees out there."

"Eighty-six, actually-"

"Are you _watching_ us, perv?" Michael shot back at the taxi driver as he turned completely in his seat. When he received no response, Michael looked over at Holly, who was now inching out of her sleeves. "Are you gonna watch her change, too, sicko? Keep your eyes down."

"Michael-"

"This guy is a jerk," he muttered to Holly, eying the rearview mirror. "You've been asleep — you don't… Let's just go. Forget this guy."

"Thank you," Holly said over Michael's complaints. The driver, who deserved to remain nameless, smiled uncomfortably in response

Michael grimaced and popped his door open.

Until this moment, as he stepped out of the vehicle and into the shady, lush neighborhood, Michael had yet to set eyes on his mom's house. He could barely remember what it looked like on the inside, and certainly didn't remember the outside — but if they'd reached the right address, they were in for a treat.

Holly scooted out behind him, and Michael looked away long enough to offer his hand and help her to her feet. She turned to retrieve her purse, and then turned back around to face the estate in front of them. Her eyes, then, widened.

The place was huge.

It was just huge, and that was all there was to it — that, and the screened-in porch with the fancy lanterns, and the brick path leading to the _pool,_ which somehow had slipped Michael's memory. And multiple lights on both stories of the house were left on, shining through the dark evening in the neighborhood. Even the attic light was on, for some reason.

"Wow," Holly said, looking over at him. Her mouth opened to say something, but she just huffed a laugh.

He smiled nervously. "Yeah, uh… I didn't- I didn't remember it like this. It's big."

"That's what she said."

Michael raised his eyebrows right up at Holly, surprised but pleased by the comic relief. She was grinning at him already. He grinned back, winking at her as he passed by to shut the cab behind them.

Then he stepped around to the trunk to unload their stuff; and when Holly moved to help him, Michael threw a hand up in resistance. "I got it," he insisted, and pulled the trunk door open. "I've learned from experience."

"Okay," Holly said with a chuckle — and Michael smirked at the recollection of _his_ first meeting _her_ parents. He hoped to god it was nothing like that.

As he lifted the luggage out of the trunk, though, Michael noticed the slight squeak of the front door swinging open and came to a stop, head shooting up. He and Holly both looked toward the house, waiting for a sign of life from either his mother or…

The front door was then opened at a swift, controlled pace, and before Michael could even see who it was, he groaned under his breath. It was too early for this. It was ten o'clock at _night_ and it was still way too early for this.

In the same fashion, the screen door opened, and in the light of the lanterns hanging from the awnings, Michael laid eyes on the smiling face of Jeff Cooper. The man waved at them, and Michael reluctantly nodded back. Holly waved in a manner that was both too friendly and also completely to be expected of her.

Michael looked back, as if there were any chance of escape — but the cab had taken off down the road. It was as if the driver even knew what kind of evil they were facing here.

"Is that Jeff?" Holly asked him, as she started up brick path.

As reluctant as he felt, Michael hastened alongside her. "Yeah," he whispered, and grabbed her hand possessively. "And he's really serious about neighborhood rules, so don't- don't be too loud or he'll yell at you."

Holly wrinkled her forehead, seeming not to believe that. "Okay."

Jeff was already jogging down to them, so Michael inched ahead so as to intercept the beaming expression and the hug he was probably selling. When they met, Michael snapped the suitcase upright and forced a grin. "Hey, Jeff."

"Hey, Mike!" Jeff enthused in hushed tones. "It's so good to see you. Gosh, it feels like it's been forever."

"Yeah, for good reason," Michael muttered — but when Holly came up beside him, he put on his best behavior. "Did we wake you guys up?"

Jeff shook his head. "Not at all — don't worry about it. I couldn't have gotten Em to sleep if I tried, anyway. She's been so excited to…"

And there was probably an end to that sentence, but Jeff's dreamy chocolate-brown eyes and deep hunky voice trailed off when Holly came into view. His mouth faltered, and turned into another smile — like a creep.

"Hiya," he greeted, and extended his hand at Holly with a chuckle. "That's rude of me. Hi, there, Holly — I mean, you must be Holly…"

"I am," Holly said, grinning as if he were just so charming. She shook Jeff's hand for a longish time and added, "And you're Jeff."

"Jeff Cooper," he finished for her. "Mike's stepdad. Also the resident meet-and-greeter, apparently."

Holly chuckled, as if this were _so funny_. Michael spared a huff and fixed his eyes on the house.

"Well, here," Jeff said, seeming to pick up on Michael's signal. "Listen, it's hot out here. Let's get inside, and- I can take that for you, Mike."

"That's all right," _Mike_ said right away, shaking his head affirmatively. "I got it."

Jeff blinked, but nodded. "Cool, cool. So I'll just-"

"Your house looks lovely."

"-the door here for you; _thank_ you," he continued as he stepped up to open the screen door for them. Holly passed by him, examining the vast porch while he continued; "This house has been our baby for five years now. It was in a rough state when we bought it, but a little time and a _lot_ of money can really make a house a home…"

Holly turned back as he said this, and widened her eyes at Michael. She mouthed, " _A_ _ **lot**_ _of money."_ Michael bobbed his head in agreement. He hadn't remembered it being so _large_ , even from the outside.

"I didn't, uh," Michael decidedly spoke up, while Jeff fumbled with the door — it was always getting stuck — apparently time and money hadn't fixed _that_. "I didn't remember it being this big. Did you guys get, uh, add-ons, or…"

"Two," Jeff supplied, and shoved the door open. He looked back with a smile. "I wasn't really on board with the idea at first, but Em had her heart set on it. How could I refuse, you know?"

Michael wrinkled his eyebrows, and mumbled, "You _probably_ could have-"

But Holly squeezed his hand in warning, so he piped down.

Jeff didn't seem bothered by whatever he'd been saying, as he stepped first into the house and held the door open for Holly and Michael. Holly nodded and entered. "Thank you."

"Any time. Welcome to our humble abode."

And Michael didn't think much of that comment at first, until he followed Holly inside and took one look around. Then his mouth faltered.

 _Humble, my ass._

The place was even _huger_ on the inside, beginning with the wide greeting room, which led into the hallway and also held two open doorways — one leading into the kitchen visible on the right in all its shiny chrome glory, with _two ovens_ — gas stoves — and over the counters, he could see a wide, probably echo-ey dining room with tall chairs and a _chandelier_ — Michael muttered that under his breath when he saw it, and he could feel Holly looking at him then — and through the _left_ door, all his eyes could behold was one _giant-ass flat-screen television displaying what appeared to be an_ _ **intense**_ _episode of_ Breaking Bad _on its giant-ass face._ And if that weren't enough, there was a mini-bar. There was a _mini-bar in the den_.

How drunk would Michael have to have been to not remember this at all?

"Your mom's in the sitting room, here," Jeff informed him, with a hand gesturing toward this fancy movie theatre heaven. He called this the _sitting room_. What the hell was the living room supposed to be?

" _Is he here?"_

His mother's voice came from this very room, and the couch squeaked — and suddenly, nerves filled Michael's body. He looked over at Holly, who bit down on her lip with visible force, until seeming to realize what she was doing and stopping. She noticed his attention and shot a grin at him.

All his irritation with Jeff and the lurking fear of what might come out of his mother's mouth vanished when he looked at her.

"Here," Jeff said quickly, and he reached between them for the handle of the suitcase. "I'll take this to your rooms for now…"

"Thank you," Holly whispered.

"Our- what?" Michael interrupted, but Jeff was already on his way down the hall so that Michael's hushed tone would not reach him. His head whipped toward Holly. "Rooms? As in plural?"

"If they'll be more comfortable that way," she suggested. When he didn't respond, she nodded toward the doorway. "Go on."

"Me?"

"Yes, you first."

"Why?"

"It's your _mom_."

" _Jeff?"_

"Fine," Michael muttered. Holly squeezed his hand comfortingly.

They stepped into the doorway, he first with his hand latched onto hers and she second, tentatively, with smiles on their faces. Michael eyed the TV at first, which instantly came to a pause, and looked over at the large leather couch. There sat his mother, in her flowy blouse with the typical spectrum of colors and flowers, and the high-waisted jeans and the manicured fingernails, and the dyed-brown hair set in loose waves — and the pale lips, because she used chapstick seventeen times a day which basically bleached them of color — and the smile, which was warm and curious and odd all at the same time…

"Oh," Mom breathed. There was no greeting, or anything addressing Holly at all. Just "oh."

Michael blinked, and tried on a smile. "Hi, Mom. Sorry we're a little late, but the plane-"

"You brought…" she said, but her voice trailed off. Her eyes were set on Holly, and when Michael followed her gaze, he could see Holly was uncomfortable. Holly cleared her throat.

"Hi, Mrs. Cooper," Holly said. She waved awkwardly.

Mom's lips parted, and she looked at Michael, and then back at her, and then back at him. "You actually brought someone."

Michael wrinkled his forehead and chuckled. "Yeah, Mom, I… This is my Holly."

Holly raised her eyebrows at him and instantly, Michael realized what he said.

"My fiancee, Holly," he corrected himself, looking quickly between his mother and Holly — but Holly was smiling, as though she found this cute. He huffed a breath of relief and turned to his mother, who was still silent.

And then a smile came over her face.

And as much as his mom could drive him crazy, her smile was the second best smile in the world.

"Wow," Mom breathed, and covered her mouth with her hands. She stood up instantly, brushing her hair back from her face, and stuttered, "I would have… dressed up if I had known…"

"Well, I told you," Michael remarked, shrugging. "You didn't believe me, but I did _tell_ you-"

He was cut off as his mother bounced across the room on her bare feet, arms thrown out for a hug which she quickly caught him in. He braced himself right before the collision, and held his breath as she squeezed tightly. His arms came around her, too, and he looked over her shoulder at Holly. He smirked, a little embarrassed.

Finally, she released him, hopping as she pulled back. "This is so exciting! My baby's _actually_ getting married!" She sidestepped Michael then and reached out to Holly for another killer-hug. "Hi!"

"Hi," Holly said, voice jumping when she was taken captive by the hug. "It's so nice — oh! — to meet you in person."

"And you!" Mom exclaimed, and pulled back to look at her. She was just beaming. "Oh, you're so beautiful. What a relief."

Holly wrinkled her eyebrows nervously, about to respond when Michael quickly interrupted; "Mom, that's-"

"It sounds superficial, but he always brings home these plastic women with absolutely _no_ smile, and-"

"I do _not_ , do that-"

"But this is fantastic!" Mom gushed, and set her hands on Holly's shoulders. Then her eyebrows fell suddenly. "You look nervous. Am I making you nervous? I'm sorry."

"Just- you're touching her, Mom-"

"It's okay," Holly assured her.

"I'm just very excited! I can't help it!" she cheered, and finally removed her hands from Holly. She looked between the two of them and covered her mouth again. "You two are going to make the _cutest_ babies."

" _Emily,_ _ **what**_ _are you telling them?"_ came Jeff's voice as he marched down the hallway, a hint of humor in his tone. Michael instantly scowled.

"Nothing!" Mom insisted, and winked at the two of them — Holly specifically. When she set her eyes on Michael, though, her expression soured and she whispered, " _Be nice_."

"I'm being nice," Michael muttered.

"Be nice to _him_. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"He's not my dad! I can make this as hard as I want!"

" _That's what she said_ ," both Holly and Mom mumbled at the exact same time, both of their voices slowing as they realized the other was saying it. And they both covered their mouths to keep from laughing, in the exact same way.

Michael had never been more terrified in his life.

Then Jeff entered the room, breaking the stunned silence and drawing their attention to him — as always. He smiled at Mom. "You're grilling them about kids already, aren't you?"

Mom curled her lips and lied, "No…"

"Em!" Jeff chastised playfully — a little too playfully, but then, Jeff was _always_ trying to get into Mom's pants. He sent Holly some apologetic look and added, "Let's get some drinks first. What'll you two have? I can fix anything."

"Vodka," Michael said, only half-joking. And still, everyone laughed.

He remembered, now, why he'd been so drunk last time he visited.

* * *

 _ **I don't know why, but I always imagined Barbara Hershey as Michael's mother. Anyway.**_


	79. Turning You Back Into a Child

**Chapter LXXIX**

 **Turning You Back Into a Child**

* * *

 _The slow, cruel hands of time…_

 _Turning you back into a child…_

\- "Slow Cruel Hands of Time" by Band of Horses (live).

* * *

Holly had declined to drink, and this was for many reasons — the largest two being that she was very nervous about saying the right things to Michael's parents, and that she, in general, could not handle her liquor. It was a sad fact of her life. She and alcohol just were not a good mix. Even the tiniest glass of wine could turn her into a fidgety mess.

Michael had definitely _not_ declined to drink. In fact, he'd given Jeff the name of some complicated alcoholic beverage that Holly was pretty sure he had looked up on the way over here, just to see if he could stump his stepfather. But Jeff appeared to know his way around the bar, and busily shook a tumbler in his hands while somehow looking completely casual and Malone-esque…

Holly didn't find him half as attractive as his stepson, but damn, was he a smooth entertainer.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Cooper curled herself up in some sort of woven chair across from Holly and Michael on the pleather couch — and this seemed to be the theme of the environment. Expensive amenities mixed with earthy, natural decoration. For instance, right now, Holly was fixated on some artsy bamboo wall decoration above the massive TV. It seemed abstract, as if there were some hidden message in the formation. It seemed to be _saying something_ — like that she should work out more, or that she should… hug a panda bear…

"So how was your flight, you two?"

Holly looked over at Mrs. Cooper, who still grinned ear-to-ear every time she looked at the two of them. She wrapped her arms around her knees and added, "Flights here are so crowded all the time. I hope it didn't give you too much of a headache."

"Oh, no," Holly said, shaking her head. She looked over at Michael, who was busy watching Jeff mix the drink, although he did spare a head-nod. "It was nice, actually. I hate flying alone, and this was the first time I had someone with me, so it was a relief for me."

Mrs. Cooper nodded, and leaned on her hand. "Now, Michael told me that you used to travel a bit, for work. Did you fly a lot then?"

"I want ice," Michael reminded Jeff, who gave him a thumbs-up without looking up from what he was doing. Michael was so disengaged from this conversation. It was amazing.

So Holly took his hand in hers as a reminder that she was here — over _here_ , and trying to talk to his mother for the first time, and loving the idea of having some support. Michael finally looked over, and gave her hand a squeeze.

"Well, it wasn't that I _traveled_ so much, really," Holly explained to her. "I mainly moved back and forth between New Hampshire and Pennsylvania."

His mother wrinkled her eyebrows. "That's a long distance. And that was for Dunder Mufflin?"

"Mifflin, Mom," Michael put in, halfway listening now. "Dunder Mifflin."

"Dunder _Mifflin_ ," Mrs. Cooper echoed him. She put her hand over her chest. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

"You're forgiven. Are you _almost_ done, Jeff?"

"Yes, it was for Dunder Mifflin," Holly replied with a nod. "I worked in Nashua, New Hampshire, but whenever the H.R. representative at Michael's branch in Scranton would take a leave of absence, I was transferred to replace him."

"Here ya go," Jeff announced as he carried the drinks away from the mini-bar, extending a glass of something that Holly did not recognize to Michael. He chuckled as Michael hesitantly took the drink. "Had to stretch my brain for that one, but I'm proud of myself for it, so…"

Michael opened his mouth to make some snarky reply, no doubt, but Holly set her hand on his knee to stop him. "That looks good," she said quickly, and looked up at him. "What is it?"

While Jeff returned to clean up the bar, his voice lowered to a mutter; "'s like a mixture of a bunch of dr- I don't wanna get into it…"

"Okay," Holly said, patting his leg. She turned back to his mother, who was fidgeting with the lamp beside her chair, and added, "But no, planes out of New Hampshire were never my favorite. The airport was so backed up all the time, you know…"

"Oh, I never liked the attitude of the workers down in Pennsylvania," Mrs. Cooper said, easily picking up the conversation again. Then she squinted, and waved her finger between Holly and Michael. "But this transferring, back and forth — this was how you two met, right?"

"Yes," Holly replied.

"Because otherwise- I mean, you two were living a few _states_ apart," she continued, and she looked over at Jeff, who now approached the couch. Oddly, she moved up to sit on the arm of the chair, relinquishing the seat to her husband. He rerouted and joined her on the other side of the room — and when he did, she gestured up at him. "That's a bit like how we met, right? I mean, you were living… gosh, where were you?"

"Right before we met?" Jeff clarified, and took a seat. Then Mrs. Cooper slid right into his lap — and beside Holly, Michael's whole body went rigid. "Jeez… Milwaukee?"

"That was it," Mrs. Cooper agreed. She crossed her legs and tilted her head to look over at Michael. "And your new branch of your law firm was starting off in Pennsylvania, where Michael and I were living in that crummy apartment…"

"It wasn't that crummy," Michael protested; Holly looked over at him to see a slightly wounded expression, veiled with humor. She tried a comforting smile — she could sense he was stressed out right now — and snuggled up a little closer to him so that he could wrap his arm around her. He shrugged. "What about the pool? They had a good pool."

"There _was_ a good pool. I'll give you that," his mother said, chuckling. "I forgot how much you loved swimming at that age. I think it was one of the first times we all three did anything together, when we first went swimming in that pool…"

"Well, that was not one of the fun times," Michael reminded her, and pulled Holly in a little closer, very subtly. "I almost drowned that day, so-"

"But Jeff-"

"-and I could have died, which would _not_ have been fun-"

"-you out and that, that was a good, bonding experience for the two of you, I think," Mrs. Cooper finished, voice dying down slightly as she looked between the two men. Jeff nodded uncomfortably, and Michael shrugged again. Neither of them spared their opinions on the day.

Holly and Mrs. Cooper made eye contact, then, and both seemed to scramble for a new topic. "Anywa-"

"Michael and I…" Holly intervened, before this could become more uncomfortable — and Michael looked up at her. She checked with him quickly before continuing, "…met on my third day in Scranton — and it was a funny story, actually, because I think he was pretty determined to hate me in the beginning."

This topic seemed to ease the tension a bit, as Michael sat up from his pouting and huffed a laugh. "Yeah, well that's- that's probably true…"

"Why would he hate you?" Mrs. Cooper asked, sounding intrigued.

"Because I was H.R."

"Hey, now hey," Michael interrupted, and leaned all the way forward to see his mother. "I had good reason to. The H.R. worker at my branch? Toby? _Huge_ dick!"

"Really?"

"Yes, really!"

"Well, some people would consider that a good quality," Mrs. Cooper said, shrugging her shoulders. "Not that it's all that matters-"

"Oh my _god_ , Em!" Jeff protested in a laugh, which he tried to stifle — and his wife shoved his side. He feigned shock. "That is… _lewd._ "

"You made a joke just like that this morning!"

"Well, we were _alone_ this morning!"

Mrs. Cooper just giggled at her husband. Meanwhile, Holly looked with wide, amused eyes at her own fiance — who was visibly dying a thousand deaths at his parents' inappropriate behavior. Holly reached for his other hand and folded it in hers, drawing his attention. She made a goofy face at him briefly, as a hail-mary attempt to loosen him up. He half-smiled at her and squeezed her hands in silence.

Personally, Holly thought his parents' relationship was adorable, but she knew that if she told him that, he would never forgive her. She was supposed to hate Jeff, after all.

Amidst the giggling and muttered comments, finally, Mrs. Cooper announced, "But seriously, seriously! Back to the conversation." She set her hands in her lap and continued, "So you said you first transferred back in 2008. What happened there?"

Holly raised her eyebrows, and turned to Michael, who answered, "Well, we dated for a few weeks that year, and everything went really well… and then we got caught, so they transferred her back to Nashua. That was- and so I called you, around that time-"

"Mhm…"

"And I told people that we were engaged," Michael admitted — something that he'd explained to Holly on the plane, with equal embarrassment. "Mainly because everyone at work was asking me what happened, and I didn't wanna talk about it, so I told them that. And they told me to call you, so that, Mom, is how it happened."

"And now you actually are," Mrs. Cooper noted, with a hint of questioning, as if to confirm this was true. Holly nodded slightly, prompting her to continue. "So that's three years between then and now. You said you were transferred again?"

"Yes, last December," Holly said. She put on a little smile, looking back at Michael. "I was actually in another relationship at first, but uh, we started dating again in February, and he proposed in March."

Jeff, then, made a weird expression. "After a month?"

"Yeah," Michael said, before she could answer, and placed a hand on her leg. "We knew what we wanted, so yeah, after a month. Why?"

Jeff shook his head quickly. "Nothing. No reason."

"So overall, you've only been together about seven months," Mrs. Cooper confirmed with her super-math, nodding at Jeff. "That's not that bad."

"I'm not saying it's bad."

"And they _knew_ each other for three years," she added. "That's- I mean, we only knew each other a year before we were married."

"That's what I'm saying," Jeff insisted. "I think it's great. Congratulations, you two."

"Well, you've got a tone in your voice that-"

"Em, I'm not…"

They bickered quietly for a second, and Holly leaned back into the couch, looking over at Michael. She pressed her lips together, wondering if she might have said the wrong thing — but Michael shook his head.

"-trying to start any arguments, here. That's great for them."

"I'm just saying, you could be a little easier on it," his wife finished, and turned back toward the two of them. "He's not even practicing anymore and he's still a lawyer. I'm sorry."

"I'm not being a lawyer," Jeff protested, though he was smiling a bit. He looked over at the idle TV and shrugged. "If anything, I was thinking that seven months was a _good_ amount of time, comparatively."

"Exactly," Mrs. Cooper nodded between him and Michael. "I mean, god knows you only knew Carol for half a second before, you know — but you've matured, and you know what you want, and I'm proud of you, honey. And supportive."

 _Carol?_

Holly blinked at Mrs. Cooper, who seemed so natural in saying the name — _Carol_ — as if it were household by the time Michael had broken up with her. And then she looked at Michael, who seemed a bit uneasy as he nodded his thanks and mysteriously said nothing.

"But let's not dwell on that," Mrs. Cooper redirected, maybe realizing she'd said something wrong. "How is Scranton now? I miss it so much sometimes, you know, but I just never get the chance to come down and visit, whether it be because of the birds or the renovations or the garden or whatever else…"

 _ **Scranton**_.

Michael had _not_ been kidding when he said he hadn't spoken to his mother since Christmas. Not only had he not told his mother about Holly, but once he'd called her last weekend, he hadn't even _mentioned_ the fact that he'd moved?

There was a lull because of that tiny detail, and Holly had no intention of breaking the tension this time. She twisted in her seat to watch Michael as he recognized what his mother was asking.

Michael, of course, swallowed hard.

"Uh, I don't-" he began, with a stutter. He raised his eyebrows. "Last I heard, um, from the office, things were still good. The strangler was caught, a while ago, so that was good. Big relief to everyone there."

"Last you heard? What do you mean?" his mother clarified. She smiled in confusion. "Did you take the whole week off just to come down here?"

"I took my whole… life, off," Michael explained, clearing his throat. "I, uh, I quit, from Dunder Mifflin."

Mrs. Cooper squinted at him. "After nineteen years? You just quit?"

"That's very quick math," Holly remarked from the side of the conversation.

Jeff seemed to be the only one to acknowledge her, and pointed a finger at the woman in his lap. "She's a math whiz, honestly. I told her she could be an accountant, but-"

"Were you fired?" Mrs. Cooper asked over their exchange. "Were they treating you unfairly? What?"

"No, Mom."

"You loved that job!"

"I did, Mom, but I loved something else more," Michael said, with a sense of finality. Holly instantly felt as though she were part of this conversation again — and when Michael's hand reached for hers, she was sure.

Mrs. Cooper gained a sudden understanding of the situation, then, and tilted her head lower. "You moved to New Hampshire?"

Michael held his breath for a second before replying, "Well, not-"

"And you didn't call us?" she clarified, eyebrows peaked. "You didn't think I ought to know that my son was living even farther away from me-"

"To Colorado, Mom," Michael interrupted, as if this helped the situation. "We went to Boulder, Colorado, which might be-"

"That's even _farther_ a- why? Why Colorado?"

"To be with Holly's parents!" he argued, raising his voice slightly — and Holly squeezed his knee, but he didn't pay attention. "Her dad's sick, so we moved, and it was sudden-"

"-if something happened, I wouldn't have even known where to find you! You _know_ how-"

"-wasn't a big deal, even! And I did _call_ you; we met with you! We're here right-"

"-brother moves all the way to New York without a moment's notice, and I still don't have _his_ phone number," Mrs. Cooper continued, "and you thought it would be a good idea to just _move_? You still haven't given me your new cell phone number! I had no idea who was calling when you-"

"Well, I've been really busy, Mom! And it's not like you ever visited anyway, so what's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that you can't just _leave_ ," his mother insisted, becoming emotional despite Jeff visibly trying to calm her down. "I'm your mother. I deserve to know if you're moving away. Isn't that worth a call?"

"It wasn't worth a call when _you_ did it!"

Mrs. Cooper's eyes lit up at this accusation. "How could I have- you weren't even _speaking_ to me. You wouldn't give me your number!"

Michael threw his hands up. "Well, you somehow got the message to Charlotte, so that's- that's fine, though. Forget it. I'm not even upset about it anymore."

"Obviously!"

"Hey, guys, guys, guys, hey," Jeff intervened, sitting up to look at the both of them — Mrs. Cooper with her arms crossed, looking down at her shoes, and Michael with _his_ arms crossed, looking up at the bamboo-thing on the wall — and huffed a nervous laugh. "We can get to discussing that later, right? But let's just settle in first, you know — it's almost midnight, so we should probably get heading to bed soon…"

Neither Michael nor his mother responded, leaving Jeff and Holly to look at each other, both seemingly unsure of what to do next. Jeff ran a hand over Mrs. Cooper's back, as if to remind her that he was there. Holly turned toward Michael, who was visibly shutting them all out…

"Why don't I give you guys a quick tour of the house?" Jeff suggested. Without looking back, she nodded her agreement. Michael still said nothing.

Tentatively, Holly touched Michael's shoulder with the back of her fingers — and then he looked up — and then over at Jeff. His eyebrows rose. "Sure, fine. Okay."

And with that, Mrs. Cooper quickly excused herself, hopping out of her seat and retreating to the kitchen. Michael's head lifted to see her as she left, and Holly watched his expression as it went from indignant and embarrassed to just embarrassed.

Holly had a feeling this would be a tense weekend.

* * *

 _ **Hey, look who posted. Uh, me.**_


	80. Can't Feel No Remorse

**Chapter LXXX**

 **Can't Feel No Remorse**

* * *

 _I, I — when I was younger…_

 _I, I — should have known better, and I_

 _Can't feel no remorse… and you_

 _Don't feel nothing back._

\- "Ophelia" by The Lumineers.

* * *

Michael could comfortably conclude that this had been the most boring tour of a house he'd ever experienced.

For some reason, Jeff, and all other rich people, had accumulated this idea that every house guest would visit with some burning desire to see the entirety of the _mansion._ And the word "entirety" was not an exaggeration. Jeff had dragged them through every room of the house, including all three bathrooms, which reeked of some eco-friendly brand of air freshener — and Michael had to wonder why _two people_ needed _three bathrooms_. There wasn't even a physical possibility for them to occupy all three bathrooms at once. It didn't make sense, and neither did the random "abstract" paintings hanging on the walls. He'd stared at one blue painting for ten whole minutes, and the only shapes he could make out of the mess were a little one-legged duck and a pine cone and the side of a boob.

And the worst part of it all was that Holly seemed to _like_ it.

" _Oh, no. I'm not really, but I'd like to do a little more research into…"_

She was out there in the hallway right now, talking it up with Jeff about some stupid flower picture that was also the "human vessel." Michael had looked it over for a good thirty seconds before deciding he didn't see anything and retreating to his room.

To repeat that, he went to _his_ bedroom. He and Holly were supposed to sleep across the hall from each other, because Jeff, the Chief of Sex Police, with all his ideals on the holiness of marriage or whatever, had decided that Michael and his fiancee were no longer adults under his roof. Catholics were the worst. Michael only knew one Catholic, but he was pretty sure they were the worst.

Holly was laughing — he could hear it through the door. Jeff was saying something and she was just laughing, as if he were the funniest man on earth. What was he even joking about? Was there something funny about the human vessel?

Eventually, Michael came to the point that he couldn't take any more, so he stepped away from the door. The guest room was smallish, compared to their room at home, and the bed was smallish, compared to their bed at home — and it was going to be just him in the bed, which would make it a lot colder than it would have been at home…

Michael really missed home.

" _-too late at night to try to… figure this out. Go ahead and get some rest."_

" _Thanks. You too."_

 _Don't thank him_ , Michael thought, and almost said out loud — loud enough that they would both hear him, just to get his point across. Maybe a few smart comments would send Jeff the message to _back off Holly_. He was doing the same thing he always did with the women Michael loved: charming them and stealing them so they'd take his side and tell Michael not to _bully_ Jeff because he was so _nice_!

It was hardly bullying to tell a jackass how much of a jackass he was.

Once Jeff was downstairs, Michael sighed in relief and grabbed a pair of pajama pants from one of the stacks he'd made on the dresser when they'd separated their things between their two rooms. He dropped them to the floor and stepped in, then waddled over to the nightstand to check out the alarm clock situation. He was tired enough to just sleep all day tomorrow, but he knew Holly would want to go to the beach-

The doorknob jiggled behind him, and Michael tripped, grabbing the edge of the mattress for balance. His other hand went down for the waistband of his pants, reeling them up his legs — and when the door opened, he spun around to face the intruder. In doing so, his foot slipped over the pants and he dropped to the floor with a thud.

Groaning, Michael's head fell back irritably — and hit one of the handles on the bedside table. He threw his head forward then, struggling to keep his voice to an acceptable level when he shouted, " _Damn_ it!"

And although his ears were ringing from the impact on his ass, he could hear Holly letting out a giggle from the doorway. His head shot up to look at her, brow furrowed. She covered her mouth.

"Are you okay?" Holly asked through a hidden smile — he could hear it in her tone.

"I'm fine," Michael muttered, and grimaced as he tried to sit up. "Just perfect. Not embarrassed or anything."

Halfway to a standing position, his other foot slipped, and he barely caught the edge of the table before what would have been another blow to his self-esteem. Holly gave one quick laugh before stopping herself; when he sent her a bitter look, she crossed the room to offer him her hand. He took it, but not without a glare.

"Yeah, that's great. Thanks for laughing," Michael said, only half-joking, half-completely-serious.

"I'm sorry," Holly breathed between laughs, and she rested her hands on his shoulders while he tugged his pants the rest of the way up. She no longer contained her smile as she looked at him — and when he pouted, she tried to make it look as if she were frowning. "Having a bad day?"

"Horrible day," he gladly informed her as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. She remained standing, now eye-to-eye with him, stepping up between his knees. "I just really hate my parents, _so_ much."

"You don't hate them," she assured him.

"I do!" Michael said, pressing his fists into the mattress. "They're the worst company, and watch the worst TV and have the _worst_ house…"

"I like this house," Holly put in, while brushing her fingers into his hair.

"And they won't even let us sleep in the same _room_ together," he reminded her, eyebrows raised, "so I'm probably not gonna get enough sleep tonight, and you know that makes me cranky."

"Aw, I think you're already a little cranky," she mumbled, still just grinning at him as if he were adorable when he was so _mad_.

"I am cranky! With good reason!" he said. " _They_ … Jeff thinks we can't share a bed, because that's inappropriate, but he and Mom can have eye-sex in the living room and give each other lap dances and because they're married, it's okay! _Because they're married_ , their stupid PDA doesn't make anyone uncomfortable!"

Holly kissed him at this brief pause in his rant and brushed at his cheeks with her thumbs… which was soothing, but he tried not to let it keep him from being just a little angry at her.

"And _you_ ," Michael began, his voice a little lower as his gaze bounced between her eyes. "You seem to just fit right in, you know. They like you. You like them — even though you promised me you wouldn't…"

"I did not."

"You did! You promised me that you would hate Jeff."

"I said I would _try_ ," Holly said finally, shaking her head. "And I'm still trying, but honey…"

She looked up from his chin, into his eyes, and sighed as she tried to think of something to say. Michael already knew what she was thinking, though. He huffed a breath. "Great. You're just like my mom."

Holly's eyebrows shot up, while her arms slipped around his neck. "That's not very sexy…"

"Don't try to distract me," Michael warned her seriously. "You like him. Just _say_ that you like him."

"I don't _like_ him," Holly tried, looking at the wall behind him. "He's just very nice, and welcoming, and we actually seem to share some interests-"

"Uh-huh-"

"-and I could see him being a good grandfather to our kids," she finished, shoulders slumping. She tried a smile at him. "I do like him, because of that."

"Okay, but have you considered the possibility that he's manipulating you?" Michael said, and cocked his head at her. "Making you feel good, you know, and saying you have the same interests when you might not, and just… _pretending_ to be welcoming, and then when you leave the room, being _un_ welcoming?"

"Why would he manipulate me?" Holly asked with narrowed eyes.

"To mess with me? To _steal_ you? I told you he's a pervert, remember?"

"He seems perfectly happy with your mother," she pointed out. "And honey, I think he cares about you, too-"

"Up-bup-bup-no, nope," Michael cut her off, squeezing his eyes shut. "No more. I'm not talking about this anymore. I'm too tired and you're too wrong."

"I just think you should give him another chance," Holly insisted, and set her hands on his cheeks again — because she knew that he liked that and she was trying to endear him, but he wouldn't let it happen. "Or at least be civil to him this weekend, so that I can get to know your mother without there being any awkwardness. Is that too much to ask?"

Michael set his jaw, having to avert his eyes so she couldn't stare into his soul and make him say 'yes.' "I… don't, want to."

It seemed that Holly didn't have a response to that, as she blinked at him in his peripheral vision, silent. Her painted fingernails trailed little lines around his ears in some sort of psychological game, trying to break down his willpower one piece at a time. Holly exhaled, forehead resting against his…

"Can you at least explain to me why you hate him so much?" she offered softly. "We're… supposed to be honest now, about everything. If you told me, I would understand."

"I know," he said quickly, nodding. "I know you would. I'm just not really… I don't think I should talk about it while we're here. I think it'd just be too hard, to deal with them. I don't think… I don't want to, yet. But I will."

This appeared to disappoint her, but she nodded back, hers a little heavier. "Okay. That's okay."

"And I can- yeah," Michael added with a shrug. "I can be civil, for now. I don't want you to feel awkward — I want you and Mom to like each other and get along, you know, especially since things with _your_ m- well, you know what I mean. I don't wanna- never, never mind. I'll be civil, I promise."

And he looked up at her instantly, just to make sure he hadn't upset her by bringing up her parents — something he'd learned not to do the past couple of weeks, lest he suck all the happy times out of her body and turn her into a walking slump. She didn't seem to have registered what he said before he'd cut himself off, though. She just watched him, fingers playing at the tips of his hair and lips rubbing together…

"Thank you," she said.

He half-smiled and replied, "Only because I love you, though. Not because of how pretty you are, or how much I'm gonna miss you tonight, or anything…"

"Mhm," she hummed, and brushed a brief kiss onto his lips. "I'm gonna miss you, too. Only for your body, though."

"I knew that," Michael shot right back — and Holly chuckled, and he chuckled back. "I knew it before you said it. I know what I am to you. Hunk of meat."

"Just a big- one of those birds in the cartoons," Holly said, grinning, "that the cat looks at — and all he sees is a big roasted turkey-"

Michael's eyes lit up, and he whispered, " _I tawt I taw a puddy tat!"_

Holly's grin widened, giggling as she replied, " _Thuffering thuccotash…_ "

" _I did! I_ _ **did**_ _saw a puddy tat!_ " he finished, reining her in closer. "That's what it is. I'm your 'thuccotash'; you're my puddy tat."

Holly's eyebrows shot up in the air at that, and she winked without missing a beat. Michael's mouth fell open.

"Oh, okay."

"Okay…"

"Okay, I see," Michael muttered, wiggling his fingers under her waistband. "You're gonna get flirty and then run off to your room. That's not fair."

Holly pressed her lips together tightly, and let out, " _Ain't I a stinker?_ "

Michael gave her a light shove, and she shoved him back. " _Why, you wascally wabbit…_ "

" _Arriba arriba!_ "

" _-re dethpicable!_ " Michael shot back, pulling her in for a long, warm kiss. Her lips smiled against his, and he hummed a laugh, deepening the kiss…

Then Holly had leaned so far into him that he easily started to bring her down, back slowly inching toward the mattress. Holly chuckled as she kissed him again, _slowly_ pulling him back until he _slowly_ tugged her back down…

But Holly broke the kiss off as quickly as it had started, eyes fluttering open. She beamed at him, shaking her head. "You're gonna get us in trouble…"

"Oh, yeah?" Michael asked, and kissed her again — pulling back to mutter, "I like trouble."

"Mmm, you're getting us in trouble with your _mom_."

"I'm already in trouble with my mom…" he said — although truthfully, he had no intention of having sex with Holly in his mother's house, but he didn't mind getting a little close. He pressed another kiss to her lips, and she accepted, as if she couldn't quite bring herself to disagree…

"Hmm…"

"Mhm?"

"Hnn-nnh," she tried to argue, while still eagerly kissing him. He didn't find the argument too compelling. "Hmm…"

Then he slipped his hands down into the back of her pants, just to gamble a little bit. She sighed deeply, and he smiled. "Hmm?"

"Mhmm…"

"Hmm," he agreed, nodding his head and breaking the kiss just enough to add, " _Meep-meep…_ "

"Okay-"

"What?"

"Okay, that's enough for tonight," Holly said before he could kiss her again, chuckling at his joke but also blushing as she retreated from the embrace. She looked at him quite lovingly, yet didn't hesitate to put two feet of space between herself and the bed. "I can't… have _Looney Tunes_ sex at your parents' place."

Michael nodded his agreement, still laughing at her reaction — and added flirtatiously, "Aw… _That's all, fol_ -"

"Goodnight," she cut him off incredulously as she turned to leave, all the while shaking her head at him.

"Goodnight," he called after her, and watched her go until the door was shut between them. Even then, he smiled, and saw himself smiling in the mirror like some kind of lovesick idiot. He fell onto his back with a bounce, and stared up at the ceiling.

At least if he had Holly here, this weekend wouldn't be so _awful_.

* * *

 _ **Looney Tunes sex. All right.**_


	81. So Show Me Family

**Chapter LXXXI**

 **So Show Me Family**

* * *

 _So show me family —_

 _All the blood that I would bleed._

 _I don't know where I belong…_

 _I don't know where I went wrong…_

\- "Ho Hey" by the Lumineers.

* * *

When Jeff had given them the tour last night, he'd seemed to be taking his time on purpose. Both Michael and his mother had been visibly upset by their disagreement, so Holly was actually grateful for the distraction. Jeff had shown them every single room, bathroom, and closet of the house, until there was nothing left to be seen — except, Holly had noticed, the attic. She'd assumed that this was used for storage and made no comment.

On a separate occasion, Michael's parents had mentioned owning a few pet birds. She'd thought nothing of that, either.

When she woke up on Saturday morning, she realized the connection. In fact, the connection was the reason she was awake at 7 A.M. on a weekend, when she hadn't even set an alarm clock. She'd woken to the sound of… just an assload of birds.

It was crude, but it was the only possible measurement she could estimate for this kind of noise. _Hundreds_ of birds must have been stowed away in the attic, chirping and singing and hollering and _audibly_ fluttering around the room overhead — she could hear their _wings_. Holly had never heard such a ridiculous racket, and she'd gone to college.

Still, she didn't open her eyes. She wasn't ready to wake up. She wasn't ready to face the day just yet.

Although the Coopers had turned the lights out at a more than reasonable time last night, Holly hadn't achieved more than five hours of sleep. Florida mugginess was a new feeling for her; she found that one sheet was too little, and two sheets left her sweating. Then there was the tossing and turning that had haunted her all her single life, and could only be remedied by a full-body pillow — an embarrassing investment she'd had to make in college — or a full-body man. Holly had _really_ missed her full-body man last night.

And now there were birds.

She pulled the sheets over her head.

The other reason she wasn't ready to wake up was mostly due to Michael, too: he was obviously _not_ having fun on this trip. His first twenty minutes with his parents had resulted in multiple disagreements, not to mention more tension in his shoulders than she'd ever felt before. All her worry over pleasing his parents and fitting into his family had blinded her to the real concern…

Michael's family had even more emotional baggage than Holly's did.

That was a big statement because Holly's family was a mess. In fact, they still were on shaky speaking terms right now. In _fact_ , Holly had just found out about her dad's progressing dementia and run away to Florida because she couldn't handle it, so maybe, _maybe_ his family wasn't quite worse than hers. But it was a very close second.

Their wedding reception had real disaster potential.

Holly wasn't eager to stress over all that, though, so she forced herself up and out of the sheets, sleep be damned. Instantly, the air conditioner hit her bare legs, and relief washed over her entire body. She slumped over to the door to the guest bathroom, grabbing a pair of pajama pants off the dresser on her way. She was not eager to put them on. In fact, she could foresee gladly wearing her bikini when they visited the beach this weekend.

Looking in the mirror, Holly could see that her hair was a nice mess, but her skin was benefiting from the moisture in the air. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail — it had grown so long now, without her even noticing — and turned on the faucet to brush her teeth.

This was the first noise she'd discovered that would drown out the cacophony of bird calls upstairs.

Once she was finished, Holly wasn't quite sure what to do next. She didn't know if anyone else was awake, or if she would somehow disturb them in a way that the birds had yet to do. She supposed the only way to know was to check — so with all stealth, she creaked the door open and peeked out into the hallway…

The house was surprisingly bright. The abundance of windows allowed tons of natural light, which did wake Holly up a little bit more. She didn't hear any movement, although she could make out a faint hissing over the muffled tweeting and screeching…

Then came the wafting scent of bacon, suggesting that someone else was indeed awake.

The closer she came to the stairs, though, she realized that there were actually _two_ someones awake. She could hear soft giggling, which Holly assumed was Mrs. Cooper. Holly raised her eyebrows at how remarkably quiet they were being. At least they weren't meaning to disturb her or Michael.

Part of her told her to turn around and knock on Michael's door next, since he was somehow still sleeping. The other part of her, though, almost wanted to go downstairs without him and start breakfast — both because she was hungry, and because she had a strong feeling that, without Michael in the way, Holly and the Coopers might get along.

Still, to leave him behind and eat with his family, _without_ him…

But then, Michael did appreciate his sleep. Sleep deprivation combined with his distaste for his family would make him too grumpy to _function_.

So Holly tugged her bangs down out of her ponytail to make herself more presentable, and crept downstairs. She sneaked around the corner and into the hallway, quiet so as not to surprise them. On the ground floor, she could smell much more than bacon — but _sausage_ and pancakes and something doughy… croissants, maybe? God, she hoped it was croissants…

" _-ably make them into something,"_ muttered Mrs. Cooper. From the edge of the doorway, Holly watched as Michael's mother picked through a utensil drawer, though she already had a spatula in her hand. " _A puppy or a dinosaur o_ r something…"

"Don't do that!" Jeff whispered, but when he turned from the refrigerator, there was a smile on his face. "He'd kill you."

Mrs. Cooper made a face at her husband. "Why? He loved it as a kid…"

"He's in his forties, Emily. You can't make him dinosaur pancakes in front of his fiancee."

"Maybe she'd want some, too."

"I don't think she'd…" Jeff began, and ripped the package of bacon open, causing both Mrs. Cooper and Holly to jolt. Holly inhaled sharply — and the sound was enough to make him look up. He spotted her in the doorway. "Oh, hey. Good morning!"

Mrs. Cooper was confused by this and turned toward him, mouth open. Then she saw Holly and her shoulders perked up. "Well, good morning! I'm sorry. We didn't want to wake you."

"Good morning; no, that's okay," Holly assured, still lingering in the door. "I was already up, so- and then I smelled the wonderful, breakfast you've got going on here. I had to come investigate."

"Well, I hope it lives up to the hype," Mrs. Cooper said with a smile, and continued cracking the eggs into the bowl. "It's not quite ready yet, though. If you want to go find something on TV or anything, we'll just finish this up."

"I could help," Holly offered, stepping into the room.

Instantly, Jeff and Mrs. Cooper shook their heads. "No, no," Mrs. Cooper refused. "You go relax. You're our _guest_."

"I'd like to, though," Holly said, nodding. She set her hands on the counter as she took a good look over the ingredients laid out for them. "What can I help with?"

Mrs. Cooper raised her eyebrows, but just grinned. "You're very sweet…"

"I'd feel better if I were doing something, seriously," Holly insisted gently, looking up at the both of them. Jeff just shrugged, but Mrs. Cooper still seemed pensive. "At least until Michael's up."

"She's asking nicely," Jeff said over his shoulder. Holly smiled, and turned to Mrs. Cooper, who visibly considered this with great seriousness. Holly pressed her lips together, waiting for the word.

Finally, Mrs. Cooper raised her head, and half-smiled. "I _guess_ you can cut up some fruit for the salad."

Her grin widened. "Thank you," she said, and rounded the counter to go wash her hands. On her way, Jeff sent her a funny expression, and Holly chuckled.

Once Holly had washed up, she grabbed a rag off the counter and turned as she dried her hands. "Where would I find a cutting board?" she asked.

"There's one already out," Mrs. Cooper said, and then swung a finger toward the fridge without looking. "All the fruit is out and washed except for the blueberries — they're on the second shelf."

Holly peeked into the refrigerator, which was stuffed full of green stuff and almond milk and a bunch of ingredients that Holly, only a middle-class health enthusiast, had never seen in her life. As she searched through their crowded fridge, she became self-conscious about holding the door open and letting out all the cold air — so as soon as she located the blueberries, she shoved the door shut, and the weird social anxiety passed.

She didn't understand why she felt so nervous around Michael's family, honestly. They seemed like such lovely people, and they showed every sign of liking her back…

She'd just never "met the parents" before. She felt as though this were supposed to be going worse.

"How'd you sleep last night?" Mrs. Cooper asked, interrupting her musings. Holly's eyes refocused on the woman, and jumped at the sight of Michael's mother pointing a knife at her.

"Oh-" Holly started, bare foot slipping off the bottom of the barstool and landing her back on her feet. Mrs. Cooper's eyes widened at her, and then followed Holly's gaze to the knife. Then her eyebrows shot up.

"Oh!" Mrs. Cooper seemed to realize, and laughed at herself. She turned the knife around in her hands and extended it toward Holly, handle-first this time. "Sorry. I always do that."

"Did you stab her?"

"No, I did not _stab_ her," Mrs. Cooper shot over her shoulder, mock-scowling at Jeff, who hadn't even turned around before jumping to this conclusion. She added to Holly, "He's always giving me a hard time about kitchen safety. I think it's the public servant in him. Drives me nuts."

"It's not giving you a hard time to ask you to hold a knife the correct way-"

"There he goes," she said, shaking her head at him.

"-turn the oven off when you're done with it," Jeff continued while laying strips of bacon on a pan. "I'm a fireman, for goodness' sake. I can't just-"

"-drives me _nuts_!" Mrs. Cooper repeated for emphasis, a bit louder. Holly smiled at that, and accepted the knife.

Looking through the abundance of fruit at her disposal, Holly decided to begin with the kiwi — so she grabbed three in one hand and laid them out on the cutting board. She began cutting quietly, while the sound of bacon sizzling filled the peaceful kitchen…

"So how _did_ you sleep last night?" Mrs. Cooper asked after a moment, repeating her earlier question. When Holly blinked up at her, the woman cracked a grin. "There — I'm not threatening you with anything this time. You can answer."

Holly chuckled, and replied dishonestly, "I slept well. That bed in there is _really_ comfortable…"

The second part wasn't dishonest. She may have been burning hot and lonely last night, but she'd been hot and lonely on a _cloud_.

"Well, that's 'cause we gave you the good one," his mother replied, smirking. "I figured Michael could handle a night on a harder mattress, anyway. He's uh, he's been known to sleep on the kitchen _floor_ from time to time, so…"

Holly's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Uh-huh."

"I haven't heard this story."

"Well, he was a hungry teenage boy," Mrs. Cooper explained instantly. "And he would wake up in the middle of the night to make sandwiches, but he'd be so tired sometimes that he'd just lie down on the floor. And I'd find him there in the morning and wake him up for school, like it was normal."

"That's… adorable. That's a teenage boy," Holly said with a grin — and she began to laugh. "And, that- that's Michael now, too, I guess. Not much has changed."

"He's still a teenager at heart," Mrs. Cooper agreed. "And he was a cute one, too. Gah, I can't _wait_ to show you pictures! It'll embarrass him to pieces, but you have to _see them_."

"Oh, I'm definitely getting my hands on those before we go," Holly muttered with a mischievous grin. She swept away the sliced kiwi and moved on to the next one, while Mrs. Cooper began to mix up whatever she'd been dumping into a bowl. Jeff continued to hum something the entire time.

"So what's it like, then?" Mrs. Cooper asked — again breaking the silence before Holly could think of something to say. "Living with him."

Holly's mouth opened to respond… and that was it, because she wasn't sure if she was supposed to answer. Michael hadn't officially told his parents that they were living together, and from the way Jeff peeked over his shoulder to hear her answer, they didn't seem to be clear on it yet. Holly knew they were religious. She knew Jeff didn't want them sleeping in the same room _here_. She knew Michael was very sensitive about what his parents thought of him…

She felt trapped.

Mrs. Cooper seemed to sense this, though, and she quickly followed up, "I bet he still doesn't clean his room. I tried to raise him to be organized, but kids will be what kids will be — and Michael could just _never_ keep his things in order, you know?"

Holly took a deep breath as she looked between Michael's two parents, unsure of what to do. As the silence went on, it became apparent that even if she didn't say anything, it would be clear why she was avoiding the topic. She supposed it was better to give some kind of answer.

"He's definitely a messy one," Holly agreed, flashing a smile. She kept her eyes fixed on the fruit in her hands. "I think I'm turning him, though. We got rid of a lot of junk during the move, too, so we're really just down to the basics."

"That can be nice," Mrs. Cooper remarked, still showing a strong support, while Jeff remained silent. "Are you in an apartment, or have you started looking at houses…?"

"Uh, an apartment," Holly said with a nod. "We're thinking that we keep the costs minimal while we deal with the wedding and the car and the first kids, and _then_ we worry about buying-"

"Oh thank god you said kids!"

Holly's head shot up at the interruption, and faced Mrs. Cooper's beaming face as she dropped the whisk in her hand. Holly laughed nervously. "Oh, I-"

"She said kids! She opened up the topic!" Mrs. Cooper informed her husband right away. To Holly, she added, "I've been informed that until you or Michael broach the topic of kids, I wasn't supposed to bring it up, but since you _did_ …"

"Bring it down a notch…"

"Okay, okay," Mrs. Cooper cut him off, and turned to Holly again. "So you're… you _are_ considering having children."

Holly, again, wondered if she had misspoken somehow — but she broke a smile. "We're more than considering it, I mean… it's something both of us have wanted for a long time now, and yeah, yes. Four, is what we've been sticking with."

"That's so _exciting_!" Mrs. Cooper exclaimed, hands flying up with energy and splashing a bit of pancake batter on the floor. Her eyes widened, and she peeked over her shoulder to see if her husband had witnessed this. Then she held a finger over her lips before bending over to wipe up the mess. "Four kids! That'll be a houseful!"

"I know. I can't wait," Holly said, down at the woman on the floor. She was awfully flexible for her age. Holly wondered what she could learn from the contents of this woman's refrigerator…

"And uh, what will that mean for your jobs?" she asked then, and straightened up, tossing the soiled rag on the counter. "Will you both still work full-time?"

Holly raised her eyebrows, glancing down at the final kiwi, and stuttered, "We actually haven't figured that out, yet. I guess… I would need to…"

"Hey, now," Mrs. Cooper stopped her, as she carried the bowl of batter over to the stove — the one Jeff wasn't using. She looked over her shoulder as she continued; "You don't have to be the one to quit, you know. Michael always loved the idea of being a dad. I could see him being a stay-at-home father without much convincing."

This sounded true, but Holly shook her head. "Maybe so, but I just… I'd want to be there for my kids, you know. My mother worked all through _my_ childhood, and looking back, I think I really would have wanted her there with me, instead…"

As she went on about her mother, Holly grew suddenly self-conscious of the words coming out of her mouth — because for the past few weeks, she'd done all she could to not think about her mother. And here she was, talking about Mom as if they'd just chatted on the phone yesterday. She'd brought it up for a second without even thinking about what had happened.

"That's part of the reason I quit my job when Jeff and I married," Mrs. Cooper admitted. Holly looked up to find her pouring batter into a pan absently while she spoke. "It felt like Michael really needed me, you know, after losing his father and his brother — like _he_ needed me, because of where he was. But I think it's something you just feel out when you have the individual kid, what they need or don't need."

This was comforting, in a way. "You're probably right," Holly agreed.

Mrs. Cooper shrugged. "It also depends a lot on what you're doing, I think. I mean, I was working a job at city hall until I decided that was too much for me… What was your mother doing?"

Holly's gaze fell to the last bit of kiwi, which she sliced off and swept aside. She admired the clean, even slices of fruit which had collected on the side of the cutting board, before grabbing the strawberries and beginning again. "She was a chef."

"Really?" Jeff asked, suddenly part of the conversation. It seemed to have caught his interest. "You must know what you're doing in the kitchen, then, huh?"

"I- well, a little," Holly said, shrugging. "That which was thrust upon me, yeah."

"So maybe you could teach me a thing or two for dinner tonight," Jeff suggested, just lightly, as though he didn't mind either way. "If you want. I'm a little helpless sometimes, so it would be an undertaking."

"She is a _guest_ , Jeff," Mrs. Cooper scolded lightly, giving his arm a shove. "Quit tricking her into cooking for you."

"I'm not trying to trick her into anything!"

And as much as Holly _hated_ being asked to cook… she didn't mind it this time. It seemed like something comfortable to do, to maybe get to know him better — figure out what made him so evil in Michael's eyes.

"I think that'd be fun," Holly said, after proper deliberation.

"Think what would be fun?" came from behind her, and Holly jolted at the sound. She turned around on the barstool to come face-to-face with a sleepy-looking Michael Scott, in his cute pajama pants and t-shirt. Holly smiled at him, but quickly pressed her lips tightly shut, realizing what he was asking-

"Four kids?"

Holly spun back around to see Mrs. Cooper's smile as she redirected the conversation, _just in time_. When she met Holly's eyes, she winked at her — and in that moment, Holly was more grateful than she'd ever been. She had _not_ wanted to tell Michael that she was giving Jeff a cooking lesson — not before Michael had even had his coffee.

"Yes?" Michael asked, and yawned. "That's… what we're thinking, yeah."

"And you didn't even tell me," his mother said, shaking her head. She flipped another pancake and added, "We might just have to move to Colorado for all the grandbabies…"

"Please don't," Michael shot back, although not too harshly. Holly extended her hands to him and he took them, so she could reel him in for a kiss. It was cool and minty — a textbook morning kiss — one of Holly's favorite kinds. It was cut short due to the presence of Michael's parents in the kitchen, but it was still lovely.

"Good morning," she greeted, smiling.

"Good morning to _you_ ," Michael replied. He sounded chipper compared to last night, which was a relief. "Just been down here with my parents? Are they being gross?"

Holly grinned, squeezing his hands. "We've just been making breakfast and gossiping about you. Don't worry."

Michael's eyes shone a little at that. He took a seat at the bar beside her, then, and stole a piece of kiwi _quite_ obviously. Holly stuck her tongue out at him, which only inspired him to snatch another slice…

A plate of bacon landed on the counter in front of them, without warning. Their heads whipped up to catch Jeff in the act.

"Pancakes are gonna be a little while, so here's to tide you over," Jeff said, nodding politely.

"Thank you," Holly said.

"Thanks," Michael said out of nowhere — or not exactly out of nowhere, since this was the appropriate response to being served bacon — but to _Jeff_. When the man turned away, Holly sent Michael a wide-eyed look.

Michael just shrugged it off and shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth.

* * *

 _ **fuck I knew I was forgetting something. sorry here's the next chapter**_


	82. You Make It Look So Easy

**Chapter LXXXII**

 **You Make It Look So Easy**

* * *

 _My life gets brighter by the day_

 _From how you shine…_

 _I don't think you even have to try._

 _Either way, it's fine with me —_

 _You make it look so easy._

\- "Look So Easy" by Dave Barnes.

* * *

"So what do you think?"

Michael was looking at dirt, so honestly, he didn't know what she wanted from him. They were rows of dirt, and woodchips, and some dark-brown stuff that he hoped wasn't poop. He didn't know if he was supposed to compliment it — just point out that it was dirt? Was that offensive in garden culture?

He didn't want to offend her, but this was one _crappy_ garden. It literally looked like crap.

"Honestly?" Michael checked before he continued. "I thought there would be some flowers."

Mom's eyebrows rose, slowly, as if he'd said something confusing — and then she let go of her held breath, and smiled. "Honey, it's a _vegetable_ garden."

Michael's brow furrowed, and he looked over the lines of dirt again, shaking his head as he did. "I don't- what? Where… are the vegetables?"

She chuckled, because apparently, his ignorance was funny. "They're in the dirt," Mom explained, and gestured over the mess of soil. "It's not exactly harvest season anymore, so you can't see some of it yet…"

"I thought your vegetable garden was on the porch!" Michael admitted with a huff.

"That's the herb garden," Mom said.

"That- how many gardens do you _need_?" he asked incredulously, throwing his hands out. She didn't look up at him as she bent over to examine one of her "crops", and then knelt down altogether. Michael stepped closer, muttering, "There's a grocery store, like, ten minutes away."

"But I want my produce fresh," Mom said. Once her examination was finished, she stood back up, and brushed her knees off. "It's actually kinda fun, you know — growing your own stuff. It's like Farmville except it doesn't bring your life to a total standstill."

Michael just squinted at her. "My future kids could come _play_ in this yard if it weren't all dug-up."

"There's still room to play!" Mom assured him, with a small smile as she admired her dirt. "And they'll get to come help Nanny harvest big watermelons in the summer — think of how _cute_ that would be…"

"Did you just start this garden yesterday?" Michael asked, hardly listening. "I don't even see seeds. Should I see seeds?"

"No, you should not, be able to see the seeds," she said, setting a hand on his arm. She tugged him farther down the side of the dirt, adding, "You're not even looking in the right place. This is all the autumn harvest — sweet potatoes, peppers… There's a couple pumpkins over there! You loved carving pumpkins for Halloween!"

Michael followed her pointing finger — still seeing nothing but _dirt_ — but nodded. "Okay. Is there anything… above ground, going on here?"

Mom sighed, and tugged him to the far end. "Look," she said, squatting down at a pile of dirt which, to Michael's surprise, actually housed some greenery. His eyes lit up.

"Oh," he realized, nodding. "That's- okay, so what's that?"

"Tomatoes," Mom informed him with a wide grin as she admired her work. "And peas on the other side. C'mere."

"I'm gonna get dirty-"

"Come on."

" _Mom_."

"I met your girlfriend, Turtle," Mom announced, a bit too loudly as she looked up at him with indignation. "You can meet my tomatoes."

"That's what she said," Michael said — and when her glare hardened, he sighed and knelt down. "Fine, fine, fine. Cool. Tomatoes."

"Tomatoes," Mom echoed him as he settled on the ground. Her eyes shone as she looked over her produce, which was small but reddening already. "They're my favorite to grow. They're a little late this year, so we had to buy some at the market for the soup tonight — but we have cantaloupe for dessert!"

Michael tried to hide his _great_ enthusiasm for a fruit dessert. "Yay," he said quietly, slumping over on his hand. "Dirty cantaloupe for dessert. _Way_ better than cake."

Mom looked over at him, then, and he could tell that he'd made her mad, even though she didn't say it. She looked down thoughtfully at her little tomatoes, silent for a long moment.

Suddenly, Michael felt bad for the sarcasm.

"But soup is good," he muttered, nodding his head. "Holly- I think Holly likes soup. She likes broth, which is basically the same thing…"

"What do you really think?" Mom interrupted, voice soft but eyes serious as she studied him.

Fear filled his throat, so that he wondered how he was really supposed to answer that. "Uh, about the garden?" he asked quickly. "Garden's good. Both of them are good."

"About all this," Mom clarified, and nodded toward the house. "The house. The gardens. The birds."

"Hate the birds," Michael admitted right off the bat.

"You haven't been here in a long time," Mom continued without pause. "I've invited, and you've never come to look at the house, or to spend holidays here — so I just wanted to know if there's something… distasteful, about it all, to you."

"Distasteful? Mom," he said, brow furrowed. "I don't have anything against… I mean, yeah, I think it's all a little silly sometimes, but not _distasteful_."

"What's silly about it?" she asked.

Michael felt as if he weren't supposed to answer, but he did anyway, with a bit of a huff. "I mean, Mom… It's just- a garden? In Florida?"

Mom wrinkled her forehead. "It's not uncommon. I have lots of friends who garden here."

"And the yoga and the 'abstract' paintings all over the- I mean, you can see that it's a little…"

"A little what?"

"A little out-there!" he admitted, looking away. "And not like you, you know. You don't belong in a big… upper-class, hippie…"

" _Hippie_?"

"Weird, 'artsy', PETA rainforest bungalow," Michael finished with a shrug. "It all seems like Jeff just rolled out his dumbest ideas and it became a house. That's all I'm saying."

Mom didn't seem to know what to do with all this information, just staring past his head, mouth open. She laughed a little bit, but not in the humorous way — in the disbelief-way. "Jeff gave me _complete_ reins on the decoration. I mean- and all those 'dumb ideas'? Those were mine."

"Oh, come on…"

"Michael."

"It's so over the top! With the bamboo everywhere, and the herb garden-"

"I'm serious," Mom said, and bit on the inside of her cheek as she averted her eyes. Her voice lowered a whole octave when she added, "This was- this is my place. _I'm_ the weird upper-class hippie."

And with that, his mother instantly shut him up, before he could say anything to make it worse.

He honestly hadn't considered the possibility that these were all her ideas. Growing up, when it was just the two of them, his mother was a lover of fast-food and T.V binging and _normal pets_ , like golden retrievers. She'd never been like this when he was a kid.

"But you've never been interested in any of this stuff," Michael tried to explain, more humbly now. "Before you met him, you were _you,_ and now…"

"People change, Turtle," Mom mumbled — and even though he'd hurt her feelings, she spared a weak smile. " _My_ interests changed, independently of Jeff's interests, and _your_ interests."

"But it can't be a coincidence that the _second_ we moved in with Jeff-"

" _Michael_ ," Mom cut him off sternly. Michael's mouth clamped shut.

As soon as he'd stopped talking, though, her expression softened, and she relieved him of the glare. Her eyes drifted over to the house, where the flowers were planted around the back porch — Michael followed her gaze, to see that, through the window, someone was in the kitchen, unloading cabinets…

"Look at me for a second."

Michael turned back to face her, and swallowed. She pressed her lips together.

"I understand that the divorce was hard on you growing up," Mom said, and she reached for his hand. "I understand that you projected a lot of that frustration onto Jeff, because you were a kid."

He wanted to argue with that point, but her chin tilted up the second he opened his mouth, and he piped back down. Her eyes stared widely into his as she continued.

"But you're an adult now," she said. "And _you_ need to understand that Jeff is not the person you imagined him to be. He's not the devil. He's not the source of all evil."

"I know that."

"He's never manipulated me," Mom continued, not allowing him to butt in. "He's never pushed me toward his interests, and he's never pushed me away from you or Nathan. He's never plotted _against_ you, for goodness's sake. I'd even go as far as to say he loves you."

Michael's eyes widened. " _Mom_ -"

"And he's my _husband,_ Michael," she finished, giving his hand a squeeze. "And you need to treat him with the same respect that you'd have me give to your fiancee. Do you understand?"

By this time, Michael had adopted his familiar state of distant staring, through the window behind her, at whoever was washing their hands in the kitchen. He tried to ignore his mother's eyes set on him, along with her speech altogether. He didn't want to admit defeat and accept Jeff into the family. He'd never _belonged_ there in the first place.

Then, through the glass, Michael spotted a second pair of hands sticking a bowl into the sink — small with light-blue painted nails, unmistakably Holly's. She was in the kitchen with Jeff. She was _cooking_ with Jeff.

"Michael, please answer me."

"Are they cooking together?" Michael asked, completely ignoring her request. He locked eyes with her and repeated, "Are they in there _cooking together_?"

Mom's mouth opened, gaze wandering down at the tomatoes. " _I_ don't know…"

"Is that why you brought me out here?" he then asked, and started up to his feet. Mom followed him hastily, reaching out to stop him. "To distract me? Did Jeff ask you to do that?"

"I wanted to show you my garden!" Mom protested, but she was a terrible liar. Michael stepped around her and marched toward the house. "You still didn't answer my question!"

"Can't hear you!"

"Yes, you can!"

Michael pretended not to hear this and continued up the steps to the back porch. He jerked the screen door open, all while his mother protested with scoffs and sighs, and slammed it behind him.

As soon as he'd set foot inside, he was hit with the clanging of dishes and laughter of traitors emanating throughout the left side of the house, through the open dining room, over the kitchen counter. Holly stood at the sink, back turned, while she rinsed something under the faucet; Jeff's head remained fixed down on a saucepan on the stove, though he wasn't too focused to mutter something which made Holly laugh…

Since he hadn't been spotted, Michael inched around the dining table and momentarily out of sight, listening in to the conversation.

"-do fine. I gave you the easiest part."

Jeff's head popped up, and Michael jolted back toward the wall. "No- _no_ , what you gave me is the meat. I don't know what to do with meat!"

"But you're a man," Holly said — which made Michael's face scrunch up. "I thought men were all about the meat, and the… grilling, and all that…"

"Well, Em doesn't let me do that stuff!" Jeff pointed out, a grin in his voice. "She just gives me the sauces. I can mix sauces, no problem. Got 'em down-pat."

"Oh, come on. Meat's barely different from sauce… except if you do it wrong, you know, you could give someone food poisoning."

"See, now that makes me feel better," he said, and Holly laughed. "Because lives are at stake, now, so…"

"Just think of it as _saving_ us all from food poisoning."

"Like a superhero."

"Like- well, I wouldn't go that far."

Jeff chuckled, and Holly looked back, revealing a big smile on her face. "I like that. I'm a hero."

"-just cooking meat — it's not like you're… saving the earth from- from Parallax or something…"

Jeff's head bobbed, and he turned to face her. " _Whoa_ …"

"Yeah. I see movies."

"You saw _that_ movie? _Yikes_!"

"Wasn't my best choice," Holly admitted, and carried a plastic container of tomatoes over to the counter. She was wearing a little apron, and her hair was up in a little ponytail, and she was grinning down at the tomatoes in a very similar way to…

Then she looked up, and the thought was interrupted. Her smiled faltered at first as she examined his expression — so he flashed her a smile instinctively. She relaxed, then turned back to the refrigerator.

"A lot of those movies — you could tell they were bad just by looking at the trailer," Jeff continued, still having yet to spot Michael. "I never saw _Thor_ either, just on principle."

"Principle?" Holly asked incredulously. "What principle?"

"I don't watch any movies with lead actors named Chris."

Holly started to reply, but cut herself off. Michael inched forward to try to catch her face as she replied in disbelief, "You're kidding me."

Jeff held a hand up in self-defense. "It has _saved_ me from a lot of terrible movies."

" _What_ movies?"

While Jeff chuckled at her high-pitched voice, Michael crept up to the counter — quietly, so as not to disrupt the lively discussion. "Uh, _Captain America_ ," Jeff named off the top of his head. " _Thor_ , obviously. Oh, man, _Batman and Robin_. _Star Trek_!"

" _Star Trek_ was good!" Holly protested.

"Really?" Michael asked, forgetting to keep quiet. Both Jeff and Holly spun around toward him. "With Spock and older Spock? I couldn't even take that seriously."

Holly wrinkled her forehead at him — and Michael couldn't tell if it was because she disagreed, or because she was shocked that Michael had taken Jeff's side. Michael shrugged, taking a seat at the bar.

"So you see my point," Jeff said, testing his luck with Michael enough as it was. "No Chris is a good Chris."

"That is not a rule," Holly argued. "There _has_ to be one good Chris movie out there."

"Name me one and I'd agree with you," Jeff said simply, and turned back to tend to the saucepan full of beef.

Holly seemed to consider this, and looked over at Michael pointedly, as if expecting him to have an answer. Michael furrowed his brow, shaking his head — but Holly squinted at him, in deep thought…

Then something occurred to Michael. And he didn't want to engage in the conversation, but the opportunity to beat Jeff was just too good to miss.

"What about _The Dark Knight_?" he suggested. Jeff looked back at him. "It's Christian, not Chris — but you said _Batman and Robin_ , and that's Christopher."

Jeff's expression dropped as he thought about this. "Well- okay, so I take that one back. That one doesn't count."

"Oh, I think it counts," Holly jumped to say, before Michael could get out an argument. Michael was surprised at how quickly she'd joined his side. She shrugged. "It's only fair."

Michael proudly gestured toward her, and announced, "Majority rules. Theory disproven- disproved. Misproved?"

"Disproved," Jeff supplied.

"Disproved!" Michael said, as if it had been his idea in the first place. "Ha!"

And Jeff didn't seem too happy about this, but he shrugged it off. "I guess I have to concede. You proved me wrong."

"Yeah," he replied, nodding… and noticed that Holly was sending him a look.

He quickly wiped the proud grin off his face, then, as any good winner would do. Then he examined the kitchen island, with all its ingredients and utensils laid out, and exhaled.

"So what can I help with?" he asked — because as much as he would rather watch TV, he didn't want to upset Holly.

He also didn't want to leave these two alone for too long. They were hitting it off a little too well.

"Can you dice the tomatoes for me?" Holly asked with a sweet smile over at him. She gave the container a shake, splashing some water on the counter.

 _Of course_ , Michael thought, but nodded anyway. _The tomatoes._

* * *

 _ **Sorry, depression's a bitch, here's an update.**_


	83. We Make These Memories

**Chapter LXXXIII**

 **We Make These Memories**

* * *

 _We keep this love in a photograph;_

 _We made these memories for ourselves,_

 _Where our eyes are never closing,_

 _Hearts are never broken,_

 _And time's forever frozen still._

\- "Photograph" by Ed Sheeran.

* * *

Holly had always been told that she over-packed before every trip she took — stuffed her suitcase full of anything she or her company would possibly need, or want, or even consider wanting — but Holly thought of it as responsible, despite the looks it got her on the first day of college. She'd grown more reasonable with her packing since then, of course. She hadn't carried the full emergency kit to the Cooper residence for the weekend, and so far, she was satisfied with that choice.

With the way Michael and Jeff were bickering, though, she was glad to have packed the bandages, at the very least.

But in packing for this trip, she'd restricted herself to the very basics and no more. She didn't want to show up at her almost-parents-in-law's home with two suitcases for a two-day visit. That would have made a bad impression.

She did bring Pictionary, though, and even in the decision-making, she couldn't have known why. It had seemed silly to her at the time.

But it had _paid off_.

"And they are shuffled!" Mrs. Cooper announced, and dropped the cards back into the box. She already sounded a bit too excited for this, pressing her hands into her thighs with visible energy. "Holly, I'm so glad you brought this. God knows we don't have anything like this around here, and if we don't engage them now, they'll just dissolve into another ping-pong disaster…"

Holly raised her eyebrows as she half-drained her glass of wine. "Well, I'm glad to prevent any paddle-related incidents if it's in my power," she said with a smile. And she briefly glanced over her shoulder at the sound of glasses clinking in the kitchen, where Jeff was half-through a load of dishes.

Then she leaned back to peek into the hallway, where Michael had retreated to use the bathroom… fifteen minutes ago. She was pretty sure he was just hiding now. She just shook her head, still smiling to herself.

"I can see what you're thinking."

Holly looked back over across the couch, where Mrs. Cooper was studying her. "What?"

She leaned on the back of the seat and continued, "Those two are a real piece of work. I don't know if they'll ever come to good terms, whatever we do."

Holly hadn't realized she was so transparent.

"I don't know," Holly admitted, shrugging. The wine had taken the edge off all of it. "I've seen a lot of family feuds end over board games. I don't know how long my parents would have stayed together if it weren't for Taboo."

Mrs. Cooper chuckled. "Well, I've always loved games, but the kids could just never get through it without fighting. They were _so_ competitive growing up — still are. That made family activities pretty challenging."

"My sister and I were the same way," Holly assured her. "But family games was just… It became tradition, you know. We had a lot of traditions."

"Mm. What kind of traditions?" Mrs. Cooper said into her glass.

Holly considered this, looking over at the wall thoughtfully. "Well, we would have firefly-catching contests around the beginning of summer, but we only did that when I was little. And on Thanksgivings, my dad invented this game where we would wait until my mom was so focused in the kitchen that we could play a secret game of catch, _inside the house_ , and we thought that was the greatest thing ever…"

Her voice trailed off, then, because she was talking about her dad and that was something she tried not to do lately. It kept happening without her knowing.

"That sounds lovely," Mrs. Cooper said, smiling as the whole story had gone on.

Holly's throat felt a little thick, so she just put on a grin.

As Mrs. Cooper's gaze lowered down to the coffee table, though, she continued; "We've just never been that family, I guess — not for lack of trying, by any means, but… well," she said, shrugging.

Holly's expression fell. "Why not?"

She sighed. "Well, it's just- when a family _starts_ in a divorce, it can be challenging, you know. And Michael and I had just come out of a pretty rocky home situation — not abusive or anything, just- just not healthy… And Michael's brother, Nate, just couldn't handle the split. I had custody, but Nate just spent so much time with his father that we just… we had to let him go."

"That's terrible," Holly said, frowning. "Losing your son… I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Mrs. Cooper stopped her. "When you divorce, you're not just divorcing the person, you know. It's the life. You're leaving everything that was normal, and I- that's just something I felt we needed to do, for everyone's sake."

Holly nodded to show her support. "I'm sure that was a difficult time."

Mrs. Cooper half-smiled, and leaned over to refill her glass. "I just hadn't realized how it would affect everything, even in the distant future." Leaning back, she looked back toward the kitchen — where they could hear Jeff starting the dishwasher — and then back to Holly. "We did the best we could, but there just weren't any roots. No traditions, no connections… We don't even meet on holidays anymore. It's just- it feels like I'm the only person who can glue this family together, and I just can't."

"I understand how you feel," Holly assured her instantly. "Really, I do. I mean, _my_ family hasn't been all together in at least a decade — I hadn't visited my parents in a long time before I moved to Colorado. And now we're…"

That's where Holly's train of thought cut off — because she didn't know how they were. Now they were _what_? They'd been closer for a few months, until the whole situation with her dad, and now they were hardly speaking to each other. Holly had practically _sprinted_ to Florida to get away from them.

And now that she was sitting here, looking at this family who didn't have half of the things _her_ family had, she felt ashamed. Her father — her _birth father who had loved her since she was born_ — was losing his memory by the minute, and she had run out. Her mother was alone with him again. Her family was falling apart and Holly was doing the same thing she'd always hated Megan for doing: running away.

"Oh, no," Mrs. Cooper said, breaking the prolonged silence. "Did I- was it something I said?"

Holly realized that her eyes were teary. She inhaled sharply and shook her head. "No, it's- you're fine, no. I just… I miss my family, I guess. It's been a while since we've spoken, and I haven't thought about it…"

"I'm sorry," she said anyway, and reached out for Holly's hand. "I'm sorry for running your ear off, too. Sometimes I get on tangents, and people usually just tune me out…"

" _Sorry about that!"_ interrupted Michael as he bounded down the stairs, out of nowhere. Holly dabbed the corners of her eyes quickly, before he could get here. " _I went up to s_ ee the birds; one of them sounded like a parrot, so I wanted to teach it things…"

"You're just in time," Mrs. Cooper announced when Michael entered the room. She gestured at the board game on the table.

Michael furrowed his brow. "Pictionary?"

"I brought it in case anyone wanted to play," Holly explained, and sniffed as discreetly as possible. "It'll be fun."

"I'm sure it- hey," Michael said, eyes locked on Holly. He took a step forward and asked, "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," Holly said, and put on a smile. "My eyes are just-"

"You're crying- _Mom_!"

"What?" Mrs. Cooper shot back.

"You made her _cry_?" Michael asked, taking a seat beside Holly. "Can you just have one normal conversation with someone?"

"She didn't make me cry," Holly said — but now that everyone was talking about her crying, the tears were multiplying. She wiped at her eyes and added, "It's just…"

Then she tilted her chin down at him and mouthed, " _My dad_." She shrugged it off, sniffling.

"Oh," Michael said. And he wrapped his arm around her back loosely, a kind of support, and gave her a kiss before whispering, "Do you wanna call them or something?"

Holly shook her head, and so Michael didn't push it. He just scooted back into the couch, and Holly followed, resting her head on his shoulder comfortably…

Overhead, then, she could hear Michael and his mother mouthing words to each other — Michael saying something like, " _Don't ask her about her dad,"_ and asking her if she could " _jjjjjust"_ something, and Mrs. Cooper whispering, " _I didn't know!"_ and Michael huffing a breath at her.

Their discussion was cut off by footsteps approaching from the kitchen. Holly didn't have to look up to know, from the way Michael's chest inflated beneath her head, that Jeff had entered the room. She quickly set a hand on his thigh, giving it a calming squeeze…

"Oh," Jeff said, and Holly instantly lifted her head at his greeting. He looked over the game setup Holly and Mrs. Cooper had put together — the whiteboard on its easel, the game board laid out on the table, the two team pieces set at the starting place — and his eyebrows rose. "Pictionary. Haven't played that one in a while."

"Holly brought it," Mrs. Cooper said, as if it were something to brag about. Holly grinned nervously, waiting for his reaction…

"So we're playing- well, Pictionary is teams, no matter what," Jeff pointed out, to himself. He looked over the three of them on the couch as he took his seat, and cleared his throat. "So what are the teams gonna be, then? Old-fashioned boys against girls?"

"No," Michael jumped to say — literally, physically jumping in his seat. Holly shot him a special look, reminding him of his promise to be civil. Michael's righteous expression shrunk a little bit under her gaze. "I mean…"

"I think we should take turns on teams," Mrs. Cooper suggested, nodding around at the three of them. She smiled encouragingly. "I could be on your team, Turtle. We were a good team last time."

"Please don't call- yyyeah," Michael said, interrupting himself. "Back in the- you're referring to the sixties? _That's_ how long it's been, Mom."

"We could do couples first," Holly offered, because this seemed like a healthy medium to start out the game. "Michael and I first — then Jeff and Mrs. Cooper."

"'Mrs. Cooper'?" Mrs. Cooper echoed, seemingly surprised as she turned toward Holly. Holly blinked widely. "Jeff gets first-name basis and I don't? That seems a little stiff."

Holly's lips parted, and she looked over at Michael quickly. "I… I didn't want to be disrespectful."

"It's not disrespectful," Michael said, wrinkling his forehead at her, and then over at his mother. "Can't she call you Emily?"

"I just said she could," Mrs. Cooper, or Emily, replied, furrowing her brow at her son's nagging. She focused on Holly again. "So you and Michael, me and Jeff. You two should go first."

"Okay," Holly said, finally receiving some sense of organization to this whole thing. She looked at Michael, who seemed satisfied by this team. "Do you wanna go first?"

"Why not?" Michael said; and he pulled his arm out from under her to retrieve a card from the table. He held up a hand to hide the contents of the card from her — although his voice lowered, he whispered, " _Sneak a peek_."

"Michael!"

"What?" he shot back at his mother. "I didn't say anything!"

"We could hear you," Emily insisted, her eyes locked on the card. "Get up there and draw."

"Fine," Michael muttered, standing up. "We don't even need to cheat. Holly and I are aces at this game."

Holly's eyes widened, and she bit down on her lip. That was some pressure to put on Holly, whose artistic skills were nothing compared to that of a professional artist such as Emily Cooper. She'd only inherited so much of her father's natural talent, and even that…

"Ready?" Michael asked, while Holly had somewhat lost her focus. She nodded.

She really needed to stop thinking about him.

* * *

 _ **Finally on some new medication, so if there's a change in how often this updates, that's why. Thanks for reading/reviewing :)**_


	84. You Make Me Happy

**Chapter LXXXIV**

 **You Make Me Happy**

* * *

 _You are my sunshine — my only sunshine…_

 _You make me happy when skies are gray._

 _You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,_

 _So please don't take my sunshine away._

\- "You Are My Sunshine" by The Civil Wars.

* * *

Michael didn't like to go anywhere without his cell phone. The disconnection from the world — mainly the social media world, but also from important phone numbers, like pizza places or Chinese food — made him just a little uncomfortable. He _belonged_ on the grid. He'd once purchased a waterproof phone to take on a whitewater rafting trip, in case he got lost and needed to call for help.

He'd lost the phone, and then jumped out to get it, and had _then_ gotten lost. _But he'd had a phone to call for help,_ and that was the point. Cell phones were comfort objects to him.

All this said, Michael did not hesitate to leave his phone in the car when he and Holly arrived at the beach.

And now, standing in his swimsuit with nothing but a beach towel in hand, waiting outside the beach restrooms for Holly, he glanced at the unfamiliar beach on his right, and the unfamiliar city on his left, and down the parking lot at the distant, tiny car which they'd borrowed from his parents — and he wondered if this had been the smartest decision.

Still, he'd made the decision: these next couple of hours, he was having Holly time. He wasn't going to field any phone calls from his mom, or Jeff, or Heather, or anyone from Scranton, even. He wasn't going to think about his family or his work when he was on a sunny beach with a hot blonde in a _bikini_ …

He hadn't seen the bikini yet, but he knew it was there. It _had_ to be there.

He needed a break from people now more than ever, though. After almost two days spent in the company of his mother, who was bent on embarrassing Michael and upsetting Holly, and Jeff, who tried Michael's patience at every turn, Michael had developed one big stress-ball inside him. It didn't help that he'd promised Holly he'd be nice to his parents, so he couldn't do anything but bite his tongue and go to bed early, alone, just like Jeff wanted.

It felt so weird, to be back under Jeff's roof, following Jeff's rules, eating Jeff's meals. It was as if he were a kid again, and that wasn't something Michael wanted — his childhood was not the best part of his life. The _best_ part was _now_ , because he was living with his fiancee in their own apartment, working together, sleeping together, and planning their life together. The more he focused on that future, with the wedding and the kids, the less he had to think about the past…

All he wanted from this trip was for Holly to feel accepted into his family, so that they would never have to visit again. Was that so much to ask? Was it really _so bad_ that he couldn't wait until they boarded their plane in six hours and wouldn't have to see his parents again until the wedding?

Knowing his mother, though, she'd probably find some way to convince Holly to have the wedding in blistering Florida, and Michael would be forced to let Jeff officiate or something stupid like that, because Jeff _owned his life now_ and there could be no freedom from-

" _Okay,"_ Holly sang around the echoing corner of the open bathroom walkway, and Michael's head whipped up at the sound — of her voice, and of flipflop footsteps smacking down the blue tile, growing louder. " _I'm ready… but this looks ridic_ ulous on me…"

Holly stepped out into view, and when Michael laid eyes on her, his whole body deflated.

It was definitely a bikini — light blue and small and tight, yet still just conservative enough that he could almost believe _Holly_ had purchased it — _to wear_ — out in _public_ , no less. Her hair was let down in its natural, wavy state, and her cheeks were a little pink as she waited for Michael's response.

But Michael didn't really know what to say. He hadn't seen her naked or even half-naked all weekend — hadn't touched her or really _kissed_ her since Friday. And to see her like this, in just the bikini, with the legs and the hair and the _boobs_ …

"Surprise," Holly said, with a half-smile. She looked down over herself and added, "I found it on sale Thursday and I liked the color, so…"

Michael swallowed against a dry throat and attempted some kind of reply, while trying not to stare at her breasts. "Yeah… It's- I like the color, too. The shape… of…" He cleared his throat. "It's very- very flattering."

Holly chuckled at his reaction and sauntered toward him in her flipflop manner. "I'm glad you like it," she flirted, looking up at him. She reached her arms up around his neck smoothly, and this was unfair on two fronts — one being that she was only inches away from kissability, and looking right into his eyes, and the other being that she was pressed against his bare chest, ultimately stunning him.

"I…" Michael began as he struggled to gain his bearings… but she was being sexy and cute at the same time and her boobs were _right there_ and her lips parted…

Holly didn't wait for him to finish the sentence. She stretched up to his lips, flashing a tiny smile at him for just a moment before closing her eyes and kissing him.

Michael inhaled sharply as their lips met; his hands settled on her hipbones, fingers familiarizing themselves with the edge of her suit and just slightly under, while he pressed back into the kiss, taking care to taste and feel everything that he'd been missing for the past forty-six hours. Holly groaned as he pushed deeper into her mouth, and sighed…

When she seemed to be ready to pull away, though, Michael's hands slid up her sides to cup her breasts, fingers brushing over them fondly — and the touch made Holly groan more loudly, and blood rushed to his ears…

A toilet flushed inside one of the bathrooms, ruining the moment as Holly broke the kiss, forehead resting against his. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling at him, and it made him smile back.

"What?" he asked quietly, pressing down on his grin to try to hide it.

"Just a few more hours," Holly mumbled to herself — and she kissed him one more time before unraveling her arms from his neck. He took her hand down below, and she smiled. "Think you can handle a few more hours?"

"No," Michael protested, looking out at the sand ahead. Holly began flipflopping around the fence and toward the beach, so he followed her lead. "We've been here _way_ too long. Enough to last me a few _years_ , I think…"

"Oh, come on," Holly said, and tugged on his arm. "I like your parents. And Florida's not as hot as I thought it would be."

"It's hell. It's burning hell."

"Well, you put on the sunscreen I gave you, right?"

Michael grimaced, because he reeked of the stuff — but Holly had insisted that he wear it. "Yeah."

"Good," she said, nodding promptly. They finally set foot in the sand, and both looked out toward the water as they walked. "I know they embarrass you, but your family is the nicest I've ever met. I already feel better about the wedding."

This caught his interest, and he squinted over at her. "Really?"

She grinned bashfully. "Yeah. I like them a lot. Your mother, especially."

"Why?" Michael asked, and he could tell it sounded rude, but he was genuinely curious.

Holly made a face at his bluntness, and upon considering it, shrugged. "She seems like she really cares about you… and she has a great spirit. I think after all she went through, with the divorce and losing her kid, and raising _you_ alone…"

"After all _we_ went through," Michael specified, eyebrow raised. "We were both there."

At that, Holly didn't respond, but looked over at him for a long time. Michael kept his eyes on the shore, trying not to think about it…

"I think she's strong, to have gone through that and still make a good life for herself," Holly finished after a long silence.

Michael huffed a breath, but nodded his agreement. His gaze drifted down at the sand, which he kicked into dust with every dragging step…

"I think you're even stronger," she added, and Michael's whole body came to a stop for a second. He furrowed his brow, and looked up at her.

"Why?" he asked again, just as bluntly. "I mean, I- why? Why do you say that?"

Holly nodded quietly, blinking straight into his eyes. "Well, you went through it with her, and you were just a kid."

Michael didn't know how that made him feel, but he shrugged it off. "I didn't… really pay attention to all of it anyway. I was off in my own world most of the time."

Then he continued walking, and Holly followed along.

The weather was really nice today — there weren't any clouds, and the humidity wasn't that bad. This particular beach wasn't so crowded, since they were nearing five o'clock, and the waves were nice. They'd picked a good day to come.

"Honey?"

Michael refocused on the conversation, and met her eyes. "Yeah? What?"

Holly seemed to study his face as he turned to her. "You should give yourself more credit," she said, out of nowhere. She looked down at her feet for a second before adding, "For all you've had to go through. With your dad and your brother, and then a new family… and Jan…"

He grimaced at the mention, looking down.

"And… being alone, for so long," Holly finished softly. "And feeling alone. I just- I hate… that you felt alone for so long."

And Michael's head shot up, because her voice sounded heavy — and he caught a bit of a shine in her eye as she looked down again. His eyes widened. "Hey…"

"Just- no one should have to," Holly said, still avoiding eye contact. "You know? No one should have to feel alone all the time, you know?"

"It's okay," Michael reassured her, and reached his arm around her just as they hit the wet sand. She sniffed, looking up at him. Michael shook his head. "I'm _okay_. I'm not alone."

"You should have a dad," Holly said, her words now thick with tears. "You should have had someone like that to support you, and to- make you feel safe growing up…"

"I had people," Michael insisted, and came to a halt so he could wrap his other arm around her. Holly dried the corners of her eyes, and Michael frowned. "Hey, don't cry. I had a great childhood. Don't cry."

"I just know how much I loved my dad," she continued, sniffing, frowning down at his chest. "And I know how… much I would have missed him, if he weren't there, and how much I'm… going to miss him when he's…"

"Honey," Michael breathed, and pulled her into his chest. She buried her eyes in his shoulder, her arms squeezing around his bare back — and Michael felt his throat starting to close up. "Don't- you can't cry on the beach. This is a _happy_ day. Don't cry."

Holly sniffed and reached an arm up to wipe at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Don't b- just look at me," Michael said as she began to pull back. "Look at me."

She sniffed again and looked up at him, blinking rapidly. "I'm fine. I'm good."

"Jeff wasn't really _that_ …"

Or so he began, but his voice trailed off as he realized just how much he was divulging and instantly wanted to stop. But of course, he'd piqued Holly's interest, and she stared at him patiently. The water hit their ankles suddenly, causing them both to lower their gaze.

"Jeff wasn't that _bad_ ," Michael finished — but only because she was looking up at him with the sad eyes and the boobs and because he'd _promised_ , he'd _promised_ to be honest with her, even about the deepest, darkest things…

"I thought he was a selfish, manipulative pervert," Holly said with a hint of joking. She must have known somehow that he was exaggerating.

"He was… nice," he continued with a shrug, and stepped a little further into the water. "He came to all my school things, you know, and- I mean, he threw pretty great birthday parties. All the girls at school had crushes on him, so they'd come to my parties, which was pretty cool…"

"Aw," Holly said, blinking back some of the tears. That prompted him to keep going.

"And he paid more attention to my sister, obviously, since she was his, and she was younger," Michael said, and tried not to sound too hurt by that — because he _wasn't_. "Him and my mom both did, but they were still good parents. If anything, Jeff and I didn't do more stuff together because I was still… waiting on my dad, I dunno."

And he glanced at Holly, waiting for her feeling on this — any kind of reaction, really, other than what she was giving, which was to merely listen and nod, and look down as the water rushed back, pulling the sand around their feet and seeming to pull them, too…

"I guess-" Holly began, finally, and cleared her throat before making eye contact. "I'm sorry for pushing on this thing with Jeff, really. It really wasn't my place to jump in."

"Don't be," he interrupted, nodding. "You were right, a little bit… I shouldn't cut out someone who I _guess_ is nice, and would be a good grandpa to our kids."

"I guess it just wasn't about that, only, for me," she finished. "I just don't like that you moved away from all your friends, and you're not close to your parents, and… I just want you to have people. I don't want you to feel like I'm the only person you have."

Michael stared down as the tides rose up to their knees, silent at first — because he was going to argue that he already had enough people and she didn't have to worry about it, but then he stopped himself. He'd felt the same about her and her parents, when they'd started fighting. He couldn't explain it, because he was happy to preoccupy her time… but he wanted her to have it. He wanted her to have a relationship with her parents, and to be happy, and to be supported.

He couldn't support her all on his own. And if she felt the same way about him, he couldn't argue with that.

"I'll talk with him tonight," Michael muttered, against every fiber of his being — and when Holly turned her head toward him, he swallowed, and nodded. "I'm not promising anything deep, but I'll figure something out."

And as another wave crashed into their legs, causing them to both stumble back just a bit, Holly didn't at first respond, until finally turning her body to face him. Their eyes met, and she twitched a smile as she inched her other arm around his bare waist. "Good."

He smiled a little bit, reeling her in closer. "Then we can go home, and get things sorted out with _your_ parents, right?"

That wasn't as fun a question for her now that it was coming from him — he could see that clearly on her face. She didn't break eye contact, though, by the time she mumbled, "I guess that's fair, isn't it?"

"Seems fair to me."

"Seems like you _should_ promise me something deep, in that case," Holly suggested, eyebrow raised in a way that was just too smart for his own good. Michael just smiled, lowering his forehead to hers.

"You're so _hot_ when you're being sneaky."

"Don't change the topic," Holly shot back as she raised a finger at him — but he just caught a kiss off her lips, which put a mock-scowl on her face. "You can't get out of this, you know, 'cause it's a deal. It's a verbal, binding agreement."

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "Are you gonna take me to court over it?"

"I could. I could ask Jeff for legal advice, too."

"You _wouldn't_."

Holly grinned and muttered, "He seems to like me, too. You might wanna get him on your side before I take legal action…"

"I could do that," Michael said, lips pursed. Looking just over her shoulder, though, he added, "Or I could just, you know, before you get the chance-"

And he lifted her off her feet and hoisted her halfway over his shoulder, and took off into the water without another word. And she squealed at the action, of course, as he shifted her further over his shoulder — while she shouted at him for impeding justice or something like that, over the roar of the waves breaking in front of them and his own laughter coming through.

Behind them, the children and strangers and beachgoers probably made some kind of face at the two grown-ass adults splashing around in the ocean… but then, Michael and Holly were never accused of being the most mature of grown-ass adults.

* * *

 ** _Happy Chapter 84! Thanks for your continued reviews and support. Each one makes this a little more enjoyable :)_**


	85. If This is to End in Fire

**Chapter LXXXV**

 **If This is to End in Fire**

* * *

 _If this is to end in fire…_

 _Then we shall all burn together._

\- "I See Fire" by Ed Sheeran.

* * *

Holly had learned two related facts about Michael over the past few months, and today, they were useful knowledge: that Michael was quite accident-prone, and that he had a very low tolerance for pain.

" _Damn_ it!" Michael hissed, his voice echoing in the quiet neighborhood around them that evening and probably scandalizing the children playing with bubbles a couple houses down. Holly would have reminded him to keep his voice down, but from the expression of pain twisting up his face and the weight he instantly shifted onto her shoulder, she decided he was in enough suffering to let it slide. "Hhhhh- _god_ , god _damn iiiit_!"

"Just breathe through it," Holly soothed, and adjusted her balance underneath half his body weight. "The pain reliever should kick in pretty soon…"

Michael muttered a more extreme expletive under his breath, which Holly could only make out because of how close he was to her — using her as a crutch so that he could hobble along the brick path with his one good foot. "I shouldn't have used the bathroom before we went. I could've peed on it and healed it _instantly_."

Holly didn't really think that was the science behind that, but she smiled to herself and muttered, "I know. But it feels a little better now, right?"

"Barely," Michael grumbled, obviously in a bad mood. But then he looked over at her and his expression softened, and he amended, "A little, I guess."

"Good," she said, nodding. "I think if we just keep it wrapped up, by the time we get off the plane, it should feel a lot better."

"It was just so embarrassing," he muttered as he hopped, brow furrowed. "That lifeguard _laughed_ at me."

"He thought you were funny."

"He thought my _situation_ was funny," Michael corrected irritably, "that some spiteful jellyfish felt like punishing me for no reason, when I've tried so hard to be a _good person_ to the universe…"

He continued to mutter to himself while he gazed down at his bandaged foot with pitiful puppy-dog eyes. It made her heart hurt a little bit, to see him in pain — and she _knew_ it was a lot of pain. Truthfully, as she'd been the one to assess and bandage the sting, she knew that it was only superficial… but she'd also witnessed his undeniable display of pain on the beach, which was just near enough to embarrassing that she knew he wouldn't have done it for attention.

So Holly stretched up and kissed his cheek, and pulled back to whisper, "The way you fought the jellyfish off was pretty hot, though."

He side-eyed her suspiciously. "Uh-huh, sure."

"It _was_ ," Holly insisted, watching him for a hint of a smile. She reeled him in a little closer to sneak a couple more kisses before they reached the stairs — and she added in between kisses, "In fact… when we get — home, I was _thinking_ …"

"Yeah?"

Holly pressed one more kiss to his skin and finished, "Well, since you're in so much _pain_ , I figured I might…" She shrugged, and leaned in for his lips as she whispered, "Play doctor?"

Michael's jaw dropped a little bit, stunned for a moment before waking up and kissing her back. When they pulled apart, his voice was much softer — much hotter, too. "It does hurt pretty bad."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," he said, nodding quickly, again with the pouty eyes that made her stomach flutter. "It actually hurts so bad that… I don't think I can even talk with family right now. I think I should just go pack, and maybe lie down for a bit…"

He looked up at her curiously, as if to see if she was buying this. She of course was not.

"I'm sure you feel that way," Holly replied smartly, eyes narrowed. She couldn't stop a grin, though, while helping him up the first step. "If you can _withstand_ the terrible pain, though, I might have a little something for you at home."

 _This_ got his attention, and he hopped up to the next step, no problem. "What kind of something?"

She made sure to keep her eyes on the door and her voice low as she said, "When I went swimsuit shopping, I bought a little something else on the side."

"Yeah," Michael said with an affirmative nod. "Tampons. I remember."

Reaching the top step, Holly hoisted her purse up her arm so that she could open the screen door. "Not tampons. I got those at the drugstore."

Michael followed her into the screened-in porch, quiet for a moment. "The pajamas with the little kittens on them?"

The door was locked, so Holly rang the doorbell. "I put those back."

"Aw. They were cute."

"And expensive," Holly said, looking back at him. "Honey, I got something _else_. For you."

Michael's brow furrowed in deep thought, because for some reason, one of the dirtiest minds on the planet could not come to such an easy conclusion. "… Toblerone?"

Holly had to smile at his obliviousness, and lowered her chin suggestively. "Michael, it was the thing on your birthday wishlist that I wouldn't buy? Because I wasn't comfortable with it then?"

He just didn't get it. "A motorcycle?"

To that, she had to give him a look. "You think I got a _motorcycle_ at Kohl's?"

"I honestly have no idea what you can get at Kohl's. The place makes no sense to me."

Then through the glass in the door, Jeff appeared, and promptly unlocked the door for them. "I'll tell you later," Holly teased him, just before the door opened and the air conditioning flooded them from inside.

"Hey, you guys!" Jeff greeted, a bit stiffly. "Just in time."

"Good! We didn't want to hold up dinner," Holly said with a smile.

"Oh, my god…" Michael breathed behind her. From the sound of it, he'd just realized what his present was. "Oh, my _god_ …"

Jeff was visibly confused and looked between Michael and Holly questioningly. Holly just grinned and shook her head.

"Well, come in," Jeff finally said, and he pulled the door open. Holly nodded her thanks as she passed, while Michael, still in shock, muttered something after her. Holly glanced back at him, and saw that he was eying her quite playfully. She bit down on her cocky smile.

Then when Jeff had turned his back to shut the door, Michael seized the opportunity to give her a pinch, and Holly jumped — and turned back to shoot him a look, which only made him stick his tongue out at her. She stuck her tongue out, too, and of course, that's when Jeff turned around, so she quickly pretended to be licking her lips. Michael cracked up a little bit, and she blushed.

"How was the beach?" Jeff asked, interrupting their silent exchange — and both their heads whipped around, as if they'd been caught doing something. He shook his head. "I wouldn't be able to do it. You're here at _easily_ the hottest time of year."

"Well, it's a relief from the cold," Holly said, inhaling. Her eyebrows shot up. "It smells great in here. What are you guys working on?"

Jeff's hands landed on his hips, and he shrugged. "Nothing special. I put some meat on the grill, and Emily's making some potato salad in the kitchen. We should be up and going momentarily."

"Well, good," Michael cut in, and mirrored Jeff, putting his hands on his own hips. "We've gotta head to the airport pretty shortly, so the sooner the better."

"Yeah," Holly agreed. "But it was so much fun staying with you guys. Thank you so much for having us."

"Oh, any time, you guys — seriously," Jeff enthused. "I know Em loved seeing you, and meeting _you_ , Holly. It was just a lot of fun all around."

"It was," Holly said, nodding her head… and she waited for Michael to add something nice, or anything at all, really. She just kept nodding her head and waiting.

And then she wrapped her hand around his arm, and gave him a discreet thump. That kicked him into action.

"Hey, Jeff," Michael said, looking up. "Before we go, uh, whenever you get the chance, can we talk about something? Just a real quick conversation, you know, mano-to-mano."

Jeff seemed shocked, as he should have been. "Sure! Yeah, we can do that — after dinner, you know. It's almost ready, so you should have plenty of time before you leave."

"Is there anything I can help with?" Holly asked. She really wanted to make sure this conversation could happen — _really badly_.

"Uh, no, not at the moment," Jeff said a bit quickly. "Actually, Em is having some help in the kitchen right now. She sent me out to tell you-"

Laughter erupted from the kitchen, then, and Holly glanced back at the noise. She looked back at the two men, whose eyes were both wide. She blinked between them.

"Is someone else here?" Holly asked.

Jeff inhaled, looking past her at the doorway. "Well, yeah… yeah, we had an unexpected visitor while you two were out. That's what I was going to tell you, uh, Mike…"

Then came more laughter, louder and wilder, so that the topic could hardly be ignored. Holly looked toward Michael, expecting him to say something — but his eyes were on Jeff already. "Oh, my _god_."

This wasn't as funny as when he'd been saying it before.

"What?" Holly asked.

"Are you kidding me?" Michael asked his stepfather, sounding quite distressed. "She's here?"

"Now, Mike, it's not like we invit-"

"Of _course_ she's here!" he cut him off, throwing his hands up — paying no mind to how loud he was being as he shoved past Jeff and down the hall. "Why not? Why the _hell_ not?"

"Who's here?" Holly asked insistently, going after him. "Michael?"

She followed Michael as he stormed up and right into the kitchen, footsteps heavy. She had to rush to keep up, and when she turned into the doorway, she came to a dead stop behind him.

In the kitchen, Emily was leaned over the counter with an intent expression as she looked over at a glowing phone screen, held by someone seated on the other side of the bar — someone Holly didn't know, but somehow recognized. There was something familiar about the long dark hair, the longish forehead, and the _nose_ especially, and the green eyes as she looked up at them…

"Well, look who decided to show up," the stranger greeted, face splitting into a squinty, cheeky grin. She waved her phone at them. "Hey, Mikey."

Then Holly looked at Michael, whose eyes were wide, both from shock and apparent anger. "Ch… I… what, are you-"

"Charlotte flew in this morning to come visit!" Emily enthused. "Surprise!"

And Holly realized, then, that this was Michael's notorious half-sister, Charlotte Cooper.

Michael was stunned silent at first, looking between the two women with confusion and frustration and a lot of anxious energy that Holly could feel when she set her hand on his back. His head whipped back at the contact, and Holly gave him a calming nod… so he took a deep breath.

"Charles," he greeted through gritted teeth, and pasted on a smile. "What… are you doing here? Now, of _all_ times?"

Charlotte's eyebrows rose excitedly at the question. "Well, I heard the family was all together, and I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to see you all at once!"

Michael squinted. "And…?"

As the question hung in the air, Emily cocked her head at him. "And what, Turtle?"

" _And_ , what's the real reason she's here?"

"Visiting your family isn't a reason?"

"Not for her," Michael said with a huffed laugh, and turned his attention back to his sister. "What is it? Do you need money?"

"Michael!"

"What?"

"No, I don't need _money_ ," Charlotte shot back, voice low and a bit raspy. "But… I actually do have another reason for coming. I have some _news_ , and I wanted to share it with all of you at the same time, in person."

Michael was not impressed as he replied, "Did you get another tattoo? Because I think after the seventh one, people stopped caring."

"Would you settle down and let her share the news?" Emily chastised him. Then she added to Charlotte, "Go ahead. We're listening."

This full attention fed Charlotte like raw steak to Bigfoot, and she reached into her pocket deliberately. "Well, I got a little something a few months ago…"

"If it is a _tattoo_ -"

"It's not!" Charlotte stopped him, as she folded her hands together and set them on the countertop. "I got…"

And Holly, still standing back in the hallway as she did not know how to proceed, or whether or not to inject herself into this family situation, peered past Michael's shoulder to spot the glimmer of light as his sister uncovered her left ring finger.

"… married."

* * *

 _ **Charlotte's here.**_


	86. Just to See You Mess Around

**Chapter LXXXVI**

 **Just to See You Mess Around**

* * *

 _I've worked for so long, just to see you_

 _Mess around what you've done…_

 _I want back the years that you took_

 _When I was young…_

\- "I Don't Feel It Anymore" by William Fitzsimmons.

* * *

"No, she's not. She's not!"

"Michael, she might hear you."

"Let her hear me!" Michael whispered sharply as he spooned out a meager serving of potato salad — which his mother _knew_ he didn't like, but she made it anyway. "She's not married. She would have had pictures all over Facebook by now."

"Well, maybe it wasn't that kind of wedding," Holly offered softly, also making her plate. They lingered around the kitchen island, watching discreetly as Mom and Jeff fawned over Charles and her dollar-store wedding ring at the dining table. Michael stood half-turned to Holly as he continued to mutter…

"What are the odds, though? I mean, really?" He actually had to chuckle at it, and leaned against the counter. "What are the _odds_ that she would suddenly get married, without warning, and announce it the same weekend that I introduce my fiancée? Come on!"

Holly shrugged. "It could happen."

"Yeah! Or she could _lie_ ," Michael brainstormed. "Because _that_ would be so out of character for her."

This caused Holly to set her fork down and look up at him, head-on. "Do you really think she'd lie about getting married just to steal the attention from you? Is she really that horrible?"

"Absolutely!" he said a bit loudly, and then lowered his voice. "Absolutely. I wouldn't expect anything else from her."

"Because honestly, honey, a lot of what you said about Jeff didn't turn out to be completely accurate," Holly said, getting into her H.R. language already. She forked a thick hamburger and wobbled it off onto her plate. "It makes me wonder if, you know, maybe you're remember things a little… skewed."

"No, oka- _honey_ ," he insisted, voice rising up an octave, "I need you to trust me on this, okay? She is a snake. All right? She lives to make me suffer. That's how it's always been."

Wild laughter came roaring through the open doorway to the dining room, and Michael's shoulders tensed so tightly that he could feel his pulse in them.

"And I need you on my side," Michael added, biting the inside of his cheek. "Because Mom and Jeff think she's god's little angel and that's never gonna change, so you _have_ to believe me. I'm not _lying_ …"

"I know you're not lying," she interrupted, hand landing on his arm. She stared into his eyes for a moment before stretching up to kiss him, just briefly, but reassuringly. Then she whispered, "And I'm always on your side, okay? I promise."

Hearing it made him feel a little better, although he still felt as though Holly would be fooled. After all, Charles never showed her demonic side in front of his parents — so why would she act any different in front of Holly?

"Okay," Michael huffed, and grabbed the bag of burger buns. He glanced up at the table as he unwrapped the buns. "I can put up with exactly an hour of this, but then we tell them we've gotta go pack, capiche?"

"Quiche," Holly replied. He smiled at her, and she smiled back — and then scooped out her potato salad and dropped it onto her plate. He noticed, then, that she didn't have a bun on her burger, and he wrinkled his forehead.

"Why don't you have-"

"Sesame seeds," she said quickly, not making a big deal out of it. She gestured toward the bag he'd just opened, and he looked at the burger buns inside, which, he now realized, were littered with sesame seeds.

"Right," he muttered, and started twisting the bag closed again. "That's… about right."

"Well, _you_ can get a bun."

"But I don't want one."

"Yes, you do."

"Well, yeah," Michael said, turning toward her and away from the doorway. He half-smiled at her. "But then I won't be able to do this…"

And he leaned in and brushed one deep, soft, longing kiss on her lips, taking care to appreciate every second of it before she would pull away and they would have to go face his family. He squeezed his eyes shut in order to block out the intense irritation he felt at just _being_ here with them, but just to think about the fact that this was making Holly happy, and he liked to make her happy…

And everyone was _laughing and he didn't know_ _ **why**_ …

"Hn _nh,_ " Michael groaned as he pulled away, cringing all the way. "What are they _laughing_ about?"

"Let's go find out," Holly said with an amused smile.

" _No_ ," he whined, but she took his hand in one hand and her plate in the other and led him away from the counter, despite all protest. He wanted to argue, but she was smiling at him sweetly, which was a problem for him…

He sighed, though, and surrendered to her pull, which guided him out of his safe zone in the kitchen and toward the obnoxious noise of the dining room.

As they marched into the doorway, they found Charles at the head of the table, naturally, passing her phone around for probably the third time since Mom and Jeff had sat down. "And that one was two days after the wedding. Vic had just won a bunch at craps, so we landed some great seats at Cirque du Soleil…"

"Oh, is that him?" Mom asked. She was up on her knees to see the pictures better — _that_ was how excited she was about this. Jeff hadn't even touched his food yet.

"That's him," Charles said, beaming. "He loved the show… or as much as he saw of it. I think I was distracting him a little bit."

Michael grimaced as he stepped around the table to the two empty seats — one of which had been pulled in from the patio, just for him. He sunk into the uncomfortable seat next to his sister and muttered, "Yeah, you've always been distracting…"

Holly made a face at him, but he didn't apologize. He did pull her chair out, though.

"Don't be a killjoy," Charles replied in her stupid, raspy, cutesy voice, while pulling her phone away from Mom. She swiped through her photos mindlessly. "Do you wanna see the video I got of the circus?"

Michael wrinkled an eyebrow at her. "Sure, I would love to see that fake video of the fake circus."

"Michael," Mom intervened in the middle of a big bite of burger. Mouth full, she mumbled, "Don't antagonize your sister."

"I'm not antagonizing!" he protested with a shrug. "I just don't believe she _actually_ went to the circus. Excuse me."

Charles narrowed her eyes at him. "I have the video _right here_. Do you wanna see it?"

"Isn't it illegal to tape those kinds of shows?"

Michael, and the rest of his family, turned toward Holly on his other side, who suddenly seemed to reconsider what she was saying. She bit her lip and shrugged. "Or maybe not. I don't know."

Charles was completely silent at that.

Michael made a mental note to take Holly straight to bed when they got home and thank her for that.

"So what's his last name again?" Mom asked, breaking the silence and completely changing the topic. When Michael sent her a look, she just smiled. She was completely clueless.

"Victor _Mackinley_ ," Charles said proudly. "I am now Charlotte Mackinley-Cooper."

"Sounds fake to me," Michael muttered, mostly to Holly, who half-smiled at him. Not only did it sound fake, but it sounded a lot like Charles trying to run the conversation, and Michael wasn't eager to listen to that — so he jumped in. "So what's this _Victor_ do with his life? Professional crapper?"

Charles grinned despite his mocking. "Actually, that was his first time gambling. He _happens_ to be in training for the Philadelphia Police Department."

This, of _course_ , pleased Jeff. "Really? When'd he start training?"

"Just this year, but he's apparently the top of his class, so…"

"The top of his class," Michael echoed, eyebrows raised. "At the police academy in Philadelphia?"

Charles smirked. "Yep."

"He's the best at the UPPD?"

Holly choked on her drink, but tried very hard to mask it. He didn't try at all to hide his amusement — but Mom was tickled. Michael grinned at Charles, triumphant.

But his sister did not lose heart, and took a sip of her tea before replying, "Well, Vic also has a great sense of humor. Part of the reason I married him."

Michael snorted. "You did not marry anyone."

"I _did_ marry him. I can show you the pictures."

"You got some guy to stand in pictures with you," he pointed out, brow furrowed. "That doesn't mean you're married. Come _on_."

"It's not a race, Mikey," Charles chastised him — and she used the nickname Michael hated, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from grabbing the salt shaker and dumping it on her head. _Then_ she put her hand on his shoulder, and he buried his fists under the tablecloth. "You're still enjoying that engagement period. I mean, you _just_ proposed, didn't you? There's no reason to rush anything."

Michael and Holly locked eyes. Holly didn't say a thing. She just tended to her bunless burger in silence.

"Well, we _basically_ just got engaged," Michael said, looking between Holly and Charles and Mom, who was keeping quiet now. "I just proposed back in April, so…"

And of course, Charles jumped on that. "Oh, man," she said, between him and Holly. "You went a while without telling us, didn't ya?"

"Well, things just now settled down," Michael remarked quickly. "We've been busy moving, and getting new jobs, and that stuff. It's just been crazy."

"You moved?" Charles asked, pulling out this one detail, naturally.

" _Apparently_ ," Mom jumped in without looking up from her plate. Eventually, though, she did glance up at him, and swallowed.

Charles frowned at him. "Why would you move? You loved Scranton."

Michael could tell that in asking this, his sister had inadvertently made Holly uncomfortable. Holly pressed her lips together and lowered her head to place full attention on the fork she rifled through the potato salad. Michael reached for her hand under the table, and she took it after a moment.

"It doesn't really matter," Mom put in, and for once, she was saying something helpful. He sent her a flash of something grateful, to which she gave a slight nod.

But Holly didn't leave it at that.

"I had to go back home," she explained quietly. "My dad's been pretty sick lately, and I wanted to be with him… And my parents live over in Colorado, so making trips over there was just so expensive."

"So we're in Boulder now," Michael finished, and gave her hand a squeeze. "It's a pretty neat state, too. It's got the mountain thing and all the business people in Denver…"

"Nice, nice. What's your dad sick with?" Charles asked — with the sensitivity of… something very insensitive, so as to say that she had _zero_ sensitivity to Holly's evident discomfort with the topic. She leaned forward to see Holly better past Michael. "Cancer?"

Michael pinched Charles's elbow under the table, but she pretended to not even feel it. He pinched _harder_ , but then Mom looked over and he had to stop.

"Oh, dementia," Holly said, nodding to herself. She looked down at her hands and continued, "I wasn't really aware of how it was progressing until earlier this year…"

"Well, how old is he?" Charles interrupted, _again_. This time, Holly glanced over at Michael with raised eyebrows — she, too, in disbelief of his sister's incredible rudeness. Michael felt compelled to take action.

So he put on a smirk and replied, "The man's a veteran, Charles. He's a little out of your league."

"Oh, ha-ha-ha," she shot back, laughing halfway about it. "No, I wasn't meaning that. I just mean… I mean, _you_ …"

Michael's head snapped over at Charles, who was now gesturing toward Holly for some reason. "She what?"

"Well, Alzheimer's is one of those genetic things, isn't it?" Charles asked, and looked at Holly again. "I'm just wondering if maybe you two should — I don't know — like hurry up with the kids or something. While you're still able to take care of them, you know."

Michael dropped his fork on his plate, and it bounced off onto the table with a clang that _apparently_ was not loud enough to interrupt his parents' busy whispering with each other so that they could hear how _terrible_ his sister was being. But this was par for the course.

And then he checked on Holly on his left, whose face was white as a sheet just to have been asked this question. He grabbed her hand under the table. She squeezed it calmly.

"My father's type of Alzheimer's isn't really hereditary," she replied. And she picked up Michael's fork from her side of the table, handing it to him. "But thank you for your concern."

Michael didn't understand how she was so calm under this kind of questioning, but he marveled at it. When she met his eyes, he gave her an awkward, "can-you-believe-this-is-our-actual-lives" smile, and she returned it.

"Well, that's good, at least," Charles went on, taking a large bite of her burger before continuing. "Gives you a little more time to worry about getting pregnant, you know, which… well, that never hurts, especially the older you get. Those infertility rates are always going up."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt if _you_ were infertile-"

" _Michael_! That's a _horrible_ thing to say!" Mom jumped in.

"Oh, _now_ you're paying attention?" Michael snapped as he sat up straighter. He swung his arm at Charles accusingly. "Holly and I can have kids whenever we want. You're the one who said it's not a race!"

Charles's eyes were wide. "I was just showing concern for you and your fiancee. I wasn't trying to upset anyone."

"We don't want your concern!"

"Turtle, let's not get all riled up," Mom said softly. "I don't think your sister was trying to offend you or Holly, and I'm sure she'll apologize for it."

"I'm _sorry_ ," Charles said, as dramatic as ever. Michael scowled at her. "I'm meddling. I'm always meddling…"

" _No…_ " Michael said sarcastically. "Not _you_."

"And you're a big boy, now, so I should leave it alone," she finished with a nod. "You've got a fiancee and a home and all that stuff. Obviously you know what you're doing."

This was confusing, because he wasn't quite sure if she was doing her usual apology-in-front-of-the-parents just to come off looking nice, or if she was genuinely sorry. His only guidance was Holly squeezing his hand under the table, as if to prompt him to accept her apology.

Also there was his mother smiling encouragingly from the other end of the table, but he wasn't really interested in what _she_ thought.

"I _do_ know what I'm doing," he finally replied — the best acceptance he could give. "So yeah. Thanks. Thank you."

"I just remember," Charles kept going, looking over at their parents, "when we were little, and all you ever talked about was being a dad and having babies. And I picked on you then, but now, it's sweet that you still want that so much."

"It is sweet," Mom added, beaming. "I think we're all just excited for you."

"Exactly!" Charles said, and shrugged. "I mean, we both got married pretty late, so we should _both_ be starting on it soon, anyway. I just… I can't help thinking of you as little Turtle Mikey, who went through puberty last in his class…"

"Okay," Michael cut her off. "That's- that's enough of that story, thanks…"

"… and even in high school, when you just kept losing girlfriends and had to come to me for advice on your…" she said, voice lowering, "… performance problems-"

"Okay, cut it out," he said, raising his voice. "That was private."

"Charlotte," Mom warned.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry." She threw her hands up in surrender. "It's just part of why I'm worried. Mom and I were _both_ worried you'd have trouble conceiving-"

All he felt was a lightning flash of numbness in his hand before the sound of a glass slamming onto the table caused them all to spin toward Holly's end of the table. There she was found, seething.

"That's _enough_ ," Holly spouted off, directly at Charles. Michael's whole body ran cold at the sound. "He said he doesn't want to talk about it, so stop _talking_ about it."

Thus ended the lively table chatter, as not only Charles was silenced, but also both of their parents, who were now paying _full_ attention to the conversation in front of them. Beyond just silence, all four of them eyed Holly with a mutually great fear.

Then Holly took Michael's hand again, and blood rushed up to his head — because she took his hand with such blatant pride and loyalty, _above_ the table, that he didn't know how to react. He looked at his mother, who was at a loss beyond all.

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Holly got to it first.

"Michael is a good man," Holly said, first and foremost. "He is a respectable businessman and manager, and I know he's going to be a wonderful husband."

Heat rose in his cheeks, but he was too stunned to stop her.

"And a loving father," she continued with an affection squeeze of his hand. Then she looked at Charles. "And anyone should be _ashamed_ to make him feel lesser than any of those things. It's _his_ choice to even let you be in his life."

Michael turned toward Charles to catch her reaction. Of _course_ , she wore an expression on her face that painted the picture of her being the victim — and she narrowed her eyes at Holly. "Well, it's also _my_ choice to let him be in _my_ life, after the way he treated my _son_ …"

"Let's go pack," Michael interrupted, muttering to Holly. "She's just being a bitch. You don't have to-"

"Oh, _I'm_ the bitch?" Charles repeated loudly — and of course, Jeff heard this and freaked out.

" _Michael_ , don't call her-"

"You _are_ a bitch, because you're bringing up exactly what-"

"You _spanked my son_!" Charles shouted, standing up from her chair. "Humiliated him in public, when he was _twenty-two years-_ "

" _Go to hell, Charlotte! You're the_ _ **wo**_ _-_ "

"Stop it! _Stop fighting!_ "

"-telling _my fiancee_ ab-"

"- _your life_? You're lucky to be in _my l-_ "

" _ **Forget it**_!" Michael shouted, and shoved the table away so he could stand up. "I'm done! We're going!"

" _Fine_!" Charlotte screeched, as he left the table with Holly's hand still in his. "Go off and avoid us for a few more years, then, all right? Have fun with your _newest blonde whore-"_

" _Okay-"_

And Michael swung around with his free hand in a fist, but Holly just shook her head and pushed him forward, out of the cramped dining room and toward the stairs.

* * *

 _ **So.**_


	87. Come Around and Wipe My Tears

**Chapter LXXXVII**

 **Come Around and Wipe My Tears**

* * *

 _You come around and make the seasons change…_

 _You come around and leave the way you came…_

 _You come around and wipe my tears away;_

 _You make me wanna give my heart away._

\- "Lift Me Up" by Mree.

* * *

She was never going to say it out loud, but Holly had fully expected Charlotte Cooper to be a nice person.

This was taking into account Michael's opinion of her, too. After the picture Michael had painted of his parents turned out to be wildly exaggerated, Holly was prepared to find Charlotte as delightfully normal as she'd found Jeff and Emily. She'd just thought Michael was remembering things emotionally.

Charlotte was even worse than he'd described.

"See? I knew it; I _knew_ this was a bad idea! I knew that somehow, something was gonna go wrong — that somehow, _somewhere_ , she would _hear_ that I was having a decent time with Mom and Jeff and she'd come _racing in_ …"

Holly nodded along to Michael's furious rambling, watching him vacantly as he passed back and forth through the guest room, grasping at every random item sitting out on the tops of dressers and bedside tables and stomping over to throw it down into the suitcase. Under other circumstances, she might have tried to calm him down — but she was too angry to stop him. He was right. He'd been right about this whole trip.

And this whole time, Holly had been puzzled as to what had destroyed this family's connection years ago. Seeing Michael's parents interact with him and with each other, she couldn't imagine that things were as bad as Michael had claimed. She'd even thought they could talk things out this weekend, so that come wedding time, everything would be water under the bridge.

Then entered Michael's sister, and it only took five minutes of passive-aggressive conversation to trigger a blowout fight. If she'd needed evidence of deep-rooted family issues, that was it right there.

"…and just _has_ to make everything about her!" Michael continued to fume. He threw a wrinkled shirt toward the suitcase on the bed, but Holly caught it mid-air and began to fold it. He tossed his arms up. "She found out I was here and she came in with this whole, 'Michael's a virgin, Michael's a turtle, Michael's so _old_ and I'm so _thirty and married_!' All I _wanted_ was a weekend with my parents that was about me! About _us._ Is that too much to ask?"

"It shouldn't be," Holly said, dropping his folded shirt into the suitcase. She then went for the pair of jeans at the foot of the bed. "Did your parents invite her?"

" _ **No**_ _!_ " he shouted so loudly that Holly jumped — and when he noticed, he lowered his voice slightly. " _No_. She just had to show up to make me look bad in front of you, because she can't ever let me be _happy_."

"Why?" she questioned, and slammed his jeans down, channeling all her anger into it. "What's her problem?"

Michael spun around to look into her eyes. "She's mental! That's her problem. She survives off attention, even if it's bad attention — and Mom and Jeff never see it or care! They treat it like I'm doing something to make her hate me! I didn't do _anything_."

Holly bit the inside of her cheek. "Well, you called her a bitch."

"Well, she called you old," he said, and knelt down to tug his sweatpants out from under the dresser. "She treated you like some infertile fifty-year old with dementia when you're only a few years older than her, and it's ridiculous!"

She couldn't argue with that. She'd never endured such an offensive and upsetting conversation before in her lifetime — not only in the way she was treated, but in the way she witnessed Charlotte treat Michael. Embarrassing him on purpose, in front of people he cared about, was a lot like something A.J. would do.

Maybe that had caused her to react disproportionately, but she couldn't do anything about that now.

"I just can't…"

Holly looked up at Michael, who had finally stopped pacing and now stood still. "What?" she asked quietly. He didn't even look at her. He covered his face, even.

"How mad are you about it?"

This kind of question seemed extraneous by now. She grabbed a pair of Michael's socks and began rolling them up. "I don't- I'm- I'm pissed. I'm pissed that she drove down here just to start problems."

"No, I mean-" Michael started, and sighed. He scratched the back of his neck, head lowered. "About _it_. About the… very _fair_ , very gentle… and well- _earned_ -"

"The spanking thing?" Holly supplied — and his eyes widened as if she'd cussed him out. She waited for him to respond, watching him…

Eventually, he huffed another breath. "Yeah. The Spanking Thing. How mad are you?"

Holly wasn't sure how to answer that, really, because she hadn't had time to think about it. She bit her lip nervously, and shifted into criss-cross-applesauce position on the edge of the mattress.

In this period of silence, they could hear loud arguing downstairs between Michael's parents and his sister. That conversation probably wasn't going any better.

"I think…" she began, cautiously, meeting his eyes. "I mean, did you really _spank_ him? What made it- how did it even happen?"

Michael approached the bed, equally nervous, and slumped down beside her. Again, he covered his eyes. "It was really stupid, and it was before you came back to Scranton… I let my nephew- I let Luke come work for me at Dunder Mifflin, and he was being a little douche! He wouldn't listen no matter how hard I tried to help him and he treated everyone badly, so I just- I just took him into another room and gave him a- just a _few-_ I don't know! It was stupid! _I_ was stupid and Charles didn't press charges, which made her the angel of the family, and…"

He looked up at her instantly, voice trailing off — anxiety in his eyes. "I did a lot of stupid stuff after you left, okay? I fell in a koi pond — I dated Pam's _mom_ , I… promised a class full of kids that I would pay for their college and then _didn't_ \- well, I guess half of that was a long time ago, but I- Holly, I left Dunder Mifflin and started my own _company,_ and it almost went broke…"

"Michael-"

"And I slept with a married woman!" Michael remembered, sitting up straight. "I was a mistress. That was my lowest point. I tried to join a teen missionary group to Mexico after that, you know, to make up for it, but I didn't go, so God probably still hates me. Maybe that's why Charles came today! Maybe it's just because God hates me."

"Michael, slow down!" Holly cut him off, and took him by the shoulders firmly. He opened his mouth to continue, but she stopped him. "Hey. God does not hate you."

"You hate me."

"I don't hate you either," she said right away, shaking her head. "Okay? I've done stupid stuff too! I did a lot of stupid things after we broke up."

Michael furrowed his brow. "Like _what_?"

"Like dating A.J.!" she pointed out, and then thought back for more. "Like… like going to visit a friend at her office and then realizing my shirt was see-through and hiding in a bathroom stall for three hours until everyone went home, and then getting the janitor to let me out. Like impulse-buying _six lobster chairs_ from this weird online store and then having to take them down there one by one to return them, only to find out that I'd be getting half the price back. Like going to a party at A.J.'s friend's house and hanging out alone by the pool because someone thought I was pregnant and A.J. laughed and then I felt like crap for the next week. I had the _worst_ social anxiety during those years. I was _constantly_ embarrassing myself."

Michael didn't appear to be impressed with this, after his own stories, but did ask quietly, " _Six_ lobster chairs?"

"I was upset!" Holly admitted, shrugging. "And I just let my life get out of control for a little while, you know? But that happens sometimes. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

He blinked at her, processing this for a moment. Eventually, he shrugged back. "Maybe."

Holly nodded affirmatively, and reached her arm around his back. She stretched up to kiss his cheek. "And it isn't right that your sister wants to embarrass you. I can see that, and your parents should be able to see that, too."

"They never do," Michael said instantly, and dropped his back down onto the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut. "They think she's perfect. They always have!"

"They can't really think that."

"Yuh-huh!" he shot back, and huffed a breath. "And I'm sorry. I really, _really_ tried to make nice with my parents for you and for the wedding, and I know I promised, but…"

She looked over at him then, where he lay limp on the sheets, rubbing at his eyebrows where she knew he was already accumulating a headache. She wanted to argue — to tell him there was still time to have a conversation and fix things — but she felt bad enough for bringing him here in the first place. She wasn't going to force him into it anymore.

"Okay," Holly surrendered — and she sunk back down onto the bed beside him, letting her eyes fall shut. She sighed, peeking over at him. "You gave it your best shot, and that was all I wanted, so let's just… go home."

He didn't respond, but opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling for a while. Downstairs, his family could still be heard arguing, with even a little slamming going on. Upstairs, birds could be heard bickering, but much more peacefully, with little tweets and twitters just piercing through the thick ceilings…

"That sounds nice," Michael finally said with a slight smile. He turned to see her, and she half-smiled back. He blinked into her eyes for a long, silent time.

She leaned in and kissed him. It drew a heavy sigh out of him, as if she were withdrawing some of the stress somehow — and when they parted, his shy smile widened. He lowered his gaze quietly.

"It was pretty cool when you yelled at them."

Holly blinked up at him instantly. He tried to hide his smile. "Really?"

"Yeah," Michael said, eyebrows raised. "How you made her shut up, and everything… It was just… a little _scary_."

Her eyes widened, and he laughed, and she laughed. "Scary?"

"Yes!" he said with an exaggerated nod. "And _badass_ , and really cool, you know? I mean, she was just going on and on like she always does, and Mom and Jeff always just listen, but then you come in and you open a can of whoopass on her like it's nothing. It was hilarious!"

"Well, she was being a jerk!" Holly said, a bit defensive toward the description. "I was trying to be _nice_ , but after a while, it was too much…"

"No one's ever…" Michael began, shaking his head at her — and then his voice drifted off. He examined her face, swallowing.

Holly raised her eyebrows. "What?"

He shrugged his shoulders and cleared his throat. "I don't- I don't know. No one's ever stood up for me like that… before. Ever — I don't…"

Again, his voice trailed off, but by then he'd said enough to drop a metaphorical piano on her chest. Any sort of response caught behind the new lump in her throat, as her eyes widened up and down over him…

He wore a sheepish expression, as if this kind of statement made him feel very small.

Holly inhaled sharply and sighed, her hand grasping the edge of his shirt, twisting it idly around her fingers. She couldn't tell if she was angry or sad that he'd felt so isolated, or happy that he knew she was there to be on his side now, or just pissed that his parents were _still_ letting him feel this way. It was no wonder he lived so defensively, if his own _parents_ weren't on his team.

"Someone should have stood up for you," she whispered, with no other real feelings to it. She tugged on his shirt subconsciously, meeting his eyes to clarify, "Your parents should have."

Michael half-smiled in a way that was equivalent to a frown, staring at her mouth. "I know," he admitted, resignedly. "That's just… They're just like that. It doesn't matter anymore."

"It does matter," Holly argued. "And if you're ever going to have a relationship with them, they have to face up to that. They _have_ to know how they made you feel."

"I know, but-" he started, eyes wide. "I mean, I know. But we don't have time to _do_ that right now — and if we want them to come to the wedding, we probably shouldn't, you know, piss on their parenting right beforehand. It's gonna have to wait."

"I see what you're saying," she said, "but I just- I think if you don't do it now, while you're here, then you'll never get around to it."

"I'd get around to it."

"When?" Holly challenged, eyebrows wrinkled. "At the wedding?"

"No!"

" _After_ the wedding?" she asked. "Right after we go on our honeymoon, you're gonna want to come home and go straight to Florida to fight with your parents?"

"Probably not!" Michael said. "But eventually, we'd see them again. I'd just do it then."

"When I'm pregnant and about to have their granddaughter?"

"Well- granddaughter?" he stopped, mid-sentence, to clarify. He cocked his head at her. " _Daughter_?"

"Or son," Holly offered. She shrugged, twisting up his shirt. "I don't know. I just said daughter."

Michael was grinning already, like the baby-worshiping dork that he was. "So you're thinking a girl, huh? A little Daisy Scott?"

Holly furrowed her brow. "Who said 'Daisy'?"

He shrugged. "I did. Or _Lily_. That'd be cute."

"You're just naming flowers!" Holly said with a smile. "I don't think I'd name my daughter after a _plant_."

"Or we could do the celebrity thing," Michael suggested, and reined her in by her waist. "Something weird like Tornado or Garnier Fructis."

"Or something more elegant," she said, trying to guide him into better directions. "Like Amy… or Jessica…"

"We could do _Molly_ ," Michael cut her off, with crazed eyes. "A perfect mix of our names! Or Milly."

"Milly sounds like such a… _oh_ ," Holly stopped herself, mouth falling open. She gave his shoulder a sudden shove. "You completely sidetracked me! We weren't talking about _babies_!"

"Hey, _hey_ , you started it up!"

"I want you to talk to them," she said, despite his best efforts to distract her. Her hand smoothed over the shoulder she'd just assaulted, squeezing lightly. "I'm not gonna make you promise, but just- just think about how good it would feel to get it off your chest! It'll be liberating, I _promise_."

"The only thing I wanna be _liberated_ from," Michael said, rolling to face her suggestively, "is this hellfire state and these clothes, and whatever world I've stepped into where my odds of getting lucky are worse than my odds of encountering my _demonic sister_."

Holly huffed a breath at him. "Okay, then."

"Even when I was single and a _virgin_ , my odds were better than this," he said as he started up off the bed.

"I think you'll regret not saying anything," she said anyway.

"Well, _I_ think I'm gonna go make nice with my mom so we can _leave_."

She lifted her head to catch him on his way to the door. "I still have to pack."

"I'll come help when I'm done," he said, opening the door — and he stopped to look back and add in a sing-song tone, "I love you!"

"Love you, too," she added, less enthusiastically. When he shut the door, she added in her _own_ sing-song tone, "You and your stubborn ass."

* * *

 _ **Re: Charlotte's toxic personality, I knew there had to be some kind of driving force behind Michael's incredibly competitive nature, his need for love and for people to take his side no matter what. Plus, the spanking plotline introduced a sister, so I had to play with that. Anyway, enjoy, feel free to leave a review if you're still here 3**_


	88. Here's My Hope

**Chapter LXXXVIII**

 **Here's My Hope**

* * *

 _So here's my hope — my dying soul…_

 _And here's my ticket. I want to go…_

 _Home._

\- "My Father's Father" by The Civil Wars.

* * *

Michael was a bleeding heart, and this was no secret. All his life, he'd gotten into all kinds of problems with family and women and coworkers because of his passionate lifestyle. He was proud to be sensitive — it was why he connected so well with women, and probably with children, too. It was a fundamental part of who he was and how he maintained his relationships.

But now, he was just going to grin and bear it.

As he descended from the last of the stairs, looking around through the doorways in the hall, he could find no trace of his formerly-screeching sister anywhere. Neither of their parents remained in the dining room, although someone had cleared the table in the meantime. He tiptoed over to peek into the living room, with the full expectation that Jeff would be there pacing angrily — but he wasn't. Michael sighed in relief.

The faucet in the kitchen sink suddenly ran full-force, and he jolted. Someone _was_ in the house.

So he approached the kitchen, careful to see who was inside before entering. It was only Mom, washing the dinner plates by herself. That wasn't so scary. He could handle that.

Michael stepped into the kitchen quietly, waiting until she shut the water off to clear his throat. "Hey," he muttered.

She didn't notice him, even when she turned to set a plate in the dishwasher. He sighed.

"Hey, Mom," Michael repeated more loudly.

Mom looked back at him briefly, eyebrows raised, smile weak. "Hey, honey," she said before turning back toward the sink. She kept her head low, saying no more.

Michael lingered awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before convincing himself to enter. "Where is everybody?" he had to ask, even though he didn't really want to know.

"Outside," Mom said simply. She glanced out the window in front of the sink, then — Michael came closer to see. "Jeff's trying to convince her not to drive off."

He could see that, as they both watched Jeff hover over the driver's window with wide, swooping hand gestures. Michael sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "This was a really nice weekend. Holly and I both had so much fun, and it just… sucks that it ended this way."

"It does suck," Mom added without looking. She reached down into the depths of the sink for a small bowl. "I mean, things were just going so great. It was starting to feel like a _family_ again…"

"I know, Mom. I'm really sorry," he insisted, leaning forward to try to get her to look at him. "I just can't… I- I don't think I'm ready to be around Charles, after everything that happened. You know how bad it is."

"I do know," she agreed, reluctantly. She pressed her lips together tightly before continuing, "But I think your sister's finally ready, and that means there's something there to recover. She drove all the way down here, for goodness's sake. Isn't that something at least?"

Michael wrinkled his forehead. " _Uninvited_. This was supposed to be my weekend to introduce you to Holly, and _she_ shows up out of nowhere just to steal the spotlight! Isn't _that_ something?"

"Have you considered that maybe this was the only place she could find you?" Mom offered.

"Uh, she knew where to find me during the forty years I was living twenty miles _away_ from her," Michael pointed out, arms crossed. He observed the silent conversation taking place outside while he spoke in mutters. "She could've asked you for my number or something. Anything would've been better than this."

Mom dropped a handful of wet spoons into the dishwasher with a clang. "I don't see what was so bad about _this_. It's not like she took the whole weekend from you, you know. She came at the last second just to catch up before you disappeared again."

"She didn't come to catch up!" he near-shouted. "She heard I was engaged and made up a marriage just to come one-up me, because that's what she _always does_."

The discussion paused briefly at the sound of footsteps creeping down the stairs — Holly, no doubt, who must have finished packing up. She was obviously trying to be quiet, as she sneaked down the hall quickly. Michael looked over at his mother, whose mouth was now clamped shut. He huffed.

Soon, Holly's head popped into the doorway. She looked between Michael and the back of Mom's head, before mouthing, " _Should I…?_ "

Michael shook his head quickly, permitting her to enter.

"Hey, Emily," Holly greeted, a bit too cheerily under the circumstances. "Is it all right if I get some cereal before we go?"

"Sure thing, honey," Mom said, flashing a smile back at her.

Holly promptly stepped around them to retrieve a bowl and spoon, and then retreated to the counter. Her haste was obvious.

Michael stood uncomfortably beside his mother as she loaded the dishes, unsure if this meant the conversation had ended. Outside, Charles's car was pulling away from the house — Jeff returning to the house in defeat. Michael didn't know whether or not he should feel relief.

"She showed us pictures," Mom mumbled sideways with a shrug. "She even… wants to bring him up here in a couple of weeks so we can meet."

"Good for her."

"So I don't think it's fair to say she's fabricating some life story just to make you mad — that's all. I think that's why she acted the way she did. You just kept egging her on about it."

"Oh, it's _my_ fault?" Michael asked, to the level that Holly heard and stopped pouring her Honey Bunches of Oats halfway through. "She comes out of her way here to make fun of me in front of my fiancée, and somehow, I brought that on? That is… just typical, Mom. That sounds _about_ right."

"I'm not excusing the way she acted, Turtle — I'm just-"

" _Please_ — stop calling me Turtle," he whined, shoving the edge of the counter. "It's embarrassing. You're all- so _embarrassing_!"

The screen door squeaked, and a second later, the front door peeled open, revealing a downcast Jeff Cooper. He let out a loud, drawn-out sigh. "Well, she's going to get a hotel room for the night. She said she might come back tomorrow once it's… just us, you know."

Michael gestured toward him. "See that? If she really wanted to fix things, she wouldn't just drive off!"

"You scared her off," Mom explained, head shaking. She kept her head down as she washed her hands. "You called her a bitch in front of everyone, and- well, I think she would still want to work things out if you just _apologized_ …"

" _Me_ apologize?" he shot back, brow furrowed, eyes wide. He looked back at Holly, who bit her lip and focused on her cereal. Then he looked to Jeff. "In what world should _I_ be the one-"

"You both need to talk it out," Jeff interjected, joining them in the kitchen with heavy steps. "You're the older brother, Mike. You need to stand up, you know. Be the better man."

"I di- are you _kidding me_? I didn't do anything to her!" Michael snapped, and buried his face in his hands. He paced away from the sink, toward the counter. " _Gah_ \- are you- you can't honestly…"

"Honey," Holly whispered, just loudly enough to catch his attention but not enough to calm him down.

"I just don't understand it," he admitted with squinting eyes. "How- how do you not _see_ … how much you favor her?"

"Oh, Michael-"

"Let's not take it there," Jeff tried.

"Let's take it there!" Michael shot back, nodding quickly. "Seriously, let's do it, because Charles just _sat_ there in front of everyone and did everything she could to make me and Holly uncomfortable, and somehow, _somehow_ , you're pinning this on me! Is- _why_ , do you always take her side?"

Mom's mouth fell open, and she sent a wide look toward her husband. "We do not take her side!"

"Mike, you insulted and yelled at your sister!" Jeff argued. "You should apologize for that!"

" _She_ should apologize for blowing into town just when something good _finally_ happens in my life, just so she can steal all the attention and make _me look bad_ -"

"She didn't just 'blow into town', Michael!" Mom said, raising her voice for the first time in the argument. "I invited her!"

"She-" Michael started, just before the words clicked together in his mind, cutting the thought off in the middle. He stopped his slow pace toward them, now stationary and dead-center in the kitchen, which was now silent.

"You _what_?" Jeff asked before Michael got the chance.

"Last night," she explained. "I know I said it would be just us, and that's what I wanted, really — but then…"

"You invited her when you knew we weren't speaking to each other?" Michael clarified, brow furrowed. He swung his arm out at the door, where Charles had stormed out. "Great idea, there, Mom. Where do you come up with these brilliant schemes?"

Mom's eyebrows shot up, and she crossed her arms. "It wasn't a scheme, all right? After dinner, Holly and I got to talking about families…"

Michael looked back at Holly, whose eyes were wide and mouth was full of Honey Bunches. She chewed slowly, as if she didn't want to swallow and allow herself the ability to respond.

"… and I just felt so sad, thinking that our family was still split like this. I just thought if I could bring everyone together, we could sort things out, and, I don't know — be a happy family again, maybe. Forgive me for thinking-"

"Wh-whoa, wait, excuse me?" Michael jumped in, waving his hands at her. "'Again'? When were we a happy family before?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when would you say we were all happy? Because I can't think of this time you're describing."

"Oh, come on, Mike," Jeff tried to get in, but Michael threw a hand up to stop him.

"I'm talking to my _mom_ , here, Jeff," Michael said, and focused back on his mother. "When do you think we were all a happy family together?"

"I don't know exactly!" Mom admitted. "Maybe when you were kids, or a little while after. All I know is that we used to be a _family_ , and now we're in all different places with different phone numbers…"

Michael just laughed, looking back at Holly before replying, "You think that because we were all in the same house, we were a family? _Mom._ Those years were hell for me!"

"You're exaggerating."

"No, I'm not!" he near-shouted. "I can understand why you would think that, because for you, everything was fine and happy. Do you wanna know what that was like for me? Do you _really_ want to know?"

"Yes, please," Mom said, hands on her hips. "Tell me what it was like for you."

"Well, it was something like this: I was born, and then you and Dad fought for a couple years, and then Dad left — and he took Nate, so it was just you and me. It was you and me, alone together for _four years_. And it didn't have to be, because you know what? Dad had the cool car, and the big TV, and the new apartment in N.Y.C., okay? I could've run off with him and had what looked like a lot of fun, but I didn't. I stuck with _you_."

"And I was so ha-"

"And then you got married!" Michael cut her off loudly, and jabbed a finger at her. "You got married to some stranger, who had all these rules that you suddenly thought were _so smart_ and all this money that you spent on this new _kid_ you had. And you spoiled her and you loved her and you took her places and dressed her up, and sent me off to stupid baseball games with this new guy who called himself my dad!"

"I wanted you to _bond_ ," Mom insisted.

"Well, it sucked!" he shouted between Mom and Jeff. "And it didn't suck because I hated his guts, and it didn't suck because I missed my dad or my brother — it sucked because it was _you and me_ , Mom! We were a family, and then you found this new guy and had this new kid and suddenly, I was the problem kid who drove you crazy and always picked on his perfect little sister, who was _Jeff's_ baby and not my screwed-up dad's!"

"Don't you _ever_ say that!" she yelled, pushing herself off the counter. "I _never_ treated you differently because of your father."

"You threw my whole life upside-down because of my dad, and when I needed _you_ , you shoved Jeff in my face!" Michael gestured toward Jeff, who stood speechless during this outburst. "And you _do_ treat her differently, even now, and if you can't see that, I don't know what to tell you. It's been you and Jeff and Charles ever since you got married, and it _still is_. So if you want your 'happy family' back, you're looking for that one. I was never in there."

And thus, Mom was finally speechless — along with everyone else in the room. Even Michael, who had been on a roll, now ran out of words to say. So he looked back at Holly, who watched this entire thing intently, half-smiling even.

And that gave him the words.

So he turned back and finished, "And no one defended me for that as a kid, and I'm tired of having to defend myself. So I'm going home now, to a family I exist in — and if you feel abandoned because of that… maybe that's just something you're gonna have to feel."

Mom's expression fell, then, as she seemed to realize the reality to what he was saying. She reached out for his arm. "Turtle-"

Michael shook his head at it, turning halfway toward Holly at the bar — but he stopped to add, "And you know what, Jeff? As much as you pissed me off growing up, I owe you an apology."

Jeff's eyes widened. "You…"

"Don't- don't get excited, okay? You were a dick. You just weren't the dick I was mad at, so just- okay, now I'm going. Forget I said that."

Jeff's expression seemed a little pleased, which meant the damage was already done.

Then Michael looked to Holly, who was already slipping off her barstool, ready to go — with a smile on her face. He hadn't expected a smile, of all things, since he'd just pissed his mom off and probably made their future wedding ten times more awkward than before — but here she was, smiling as if he'd done something fantastic. But it didn't look like a happy smile, really.

Only when he was close enough to take her hand did he see that it was really a smile of pride… in him.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for the reviews, definitely make my day :)**_


	89. Out of Chaos, Life is Being Found

**Chapter LXXXIX**

 **Out of Chaos, Life is Being Found**

* * *

 _All around,_

 _Hope is springing up from this old ground._

 _Out of chaos, life is being found_

 _In you._

\- "Beautiful Things" by Gungor.

* * *

" _Ladies and gentlemen, we are now waiting for take-off clearance. We expect to depart in ten minutes. Thank you for your patience."_

"Finally," he mumbled from up above, and flipped through to the next page of whatever magazine he'd picked up. She could guess that the work wasn't really holding his interest, with the way he frequently turned pages — and also, the fact that this was his third magazine since they'd sat down, and the plane hadn't even taken off yet. "It feels like we've been sitting here forever."

"That's not patience," Holly replied, smiling against his shirt. She peeked one eye open to look on at the magazine with him, but by then he'd tossed it back into the bin. She sighed comfortably and closed her eyes again.

"Well, I've lost my patience," Michael said. "They already had a boarding delay, and we're _still_ waiting?"

"Well, we came a little early," she reminded him. He reined her closer to his side, and she poked a finger at his chest, walking up his shirt. "You're the one who needed to leave right away…"

"I had to!" he said, head slumping down on top of hers. "It's not like I could just hang around after everything, you know? They were all mad at me. I couldn't just…"

Michael sighed, and shrugged.

They hadn't really discussed what had happened with his parents yet, and she wasn't sure if it was coming or not. Michael was obviously stressed out about the decision he'd made, but every time he started to talk about it, he withdrew. She didn't know if he was ready yet, or if he knew what he thought about it all…

She knew what _she_ thought. She was absolutely, tirelessly proud of him.

And she couldn't explain it, because she knew how awful he felt about what he'd said. She knew that it was the hardest thing he'd had to do in a long time and that it had probably ruined his relationship with his mom for a little bit — and looking ahead, she knew that this would be trouble for the wedding — but she just couldn't help feeling so _proud_ of him for standing up for himself. It was monumental for him.

"I just can't wait to get home," Michael admitted with a big huff that ballooned his chest up beneath her ear before slowly sinking away. "I miss the apartment, and work, and just… being alone, you know. Just us. I missed our weekend."

Holly nodded her agreement and dropped a kiss on his neck. "Me, too. But you know, if it's all the same, I'm glad we went. It was an important step in all this."

He hummed some sort of recognition of the fact. "I guess so."

"And even if it didn't end well," Holly added, looking up at him, "I enjoyed some of it. You know, the place was beautiful, and your parents… really did seem nice for the most part."

"Well, they are that," Michael said. He looked out the window and muttered, "Stupid, but always nice."

She chuckled at that — not because it was so funny, but because she knew it made him feel a little better. And judging from the smile on his face, it did seem to help.

But then, as the laughter faded, he couldn't seem to think of anything else to say, so he settled into his seat and squeezed her into a little hug. She kissed his neck again, and then his collarbone, before resting her head again. They both stared out the window on their left, while nothing really happened in the hangar outside.

Holly sighed contentedly. "At least we won't hear those birds tomorrow morning, so… that makes me feel a little better."

" _That_ makes- that feels a lot better."

"I loved the birds, but that was too much."

Michael laughed. "Oh, they _sucked_. What a terrible way to wake guests! No wonder they spend so much time outside…"

"They did go outside a lot," Holly said, realizing it more now that they'd gone. "I mean, I love nature, but in the summer in Florida?"

"It was _so hot_ ," he agreed, voice hushed as if they would hear him. "Mom had me sitting out there while she showed me the garden and I was just like- I was like this." He stuck his tongue out and threw his head back, panting, eye twitching. " _I'm meeeelting..._ "

Holly burst into giggles, trying not to look around to see if anyone was watching them. "I didn't even know you could _have_ a garden in Florida."

"Yeah, well, _sort of_. I mean, you can grow cow poop, but that's _about all it looked like-_ "

" _Michael_ ," she admonished playfully, giving him a shove. He just laughed. "You're so mean."

"Yeah," he said, and dropped his head again. He exhaled. "Maybe too mean. I mean, maybe I made a mistake. I don't know."

"No," Holly said right away. "No, I think you did the right thing — the brave thing."

"Then why does it feel so shitty?"

His voice cracked a little when he said that, and it hurt her heart. Holly bit her lip and reached her arm around his waist, giving him as much of a big bear hug as she could in these plane seats. "The right thing usually feels that way."

Michael nodded to himself. "Maybe. Maybe, I just- I just don't like the fighting, and everything not being just… normal, you know. It just feels easier for things to be okay and we don't talk and… nobody fights, you know? And I can be separate from all that."

"I know," she muttered. Looking up at him, she added, "I'm proud of you, though."

He wrinkled his forehead. "Proud of me?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "You stood up for yourself, and your feelings. You told them what you went through as a kid, and that's… it was just…"

"Crazy?"

"Amazing," Holly corrected as she stared up at his chin. "Just seeing you do that made me so… _happy_."

Michael tilted his chin to meet her eyes, and he seemed stunned — but a grin crept onto his face before dashing away shyly. He leaned down to kiss her at one very awkward angle, which she accommodated by stretching up and trying to sort of swivel…

" _Ladies and gentlemen, we expect to depart in five minutes. Thank you for your patience."_

He deepened the kiss for a moment, even venturing to slip some tongue in there until someone cleared their throat across the aisle. Then Michael pulled back slowly, eyes shooting straight toward the noise and narrowing. Holly didn't bother to look, content with watching his facial expression sour. "Yeah," he called over to them. "Look somewhere else, then, perv. Thanks, so much."

Holly chuckled and gave his chin a pinch. "Too much PDA?"

"Apparently," he said with eyebrows raised. He shook his head at the disgruntled person in the distance before adding, "I'm gonna run to the bathroom before we take off…"

"Okay," Holly mumbled, sitting up straight so he could get up and start past her. As he went by, she nudged his butt with her knee — and when he turned around, she looked down at her phone with a blank expression. He still giggled on his way down the aisle. Once he was gone, she cracked a smile, too.

Then she locked eyes with the peeping Tom across the aisle, whose face was all scrunched in disapproval. She smirked at him civilly and unlocked her phone, waiting for him to look away. Eventually, he turned back around.

It was a bold move, staring down a stranger — and Holly had found that, since she'd told Michael's sister off earlier today, she was bustling with a slight cockiness. She didn't know how long it would last, but it felt nice.

This might have been part of the reason why, during all their waiting time at the airport, she'd been inspired to look back on her quite minimal wedding plans and… expand, a little bit.

To other people, this kind of activity might not have required much courage. But for Holly Flax, after her house-building experience with A.J. and plenty of commitment anxiety with Michael, this was the first step into a brave new world. She hadn't planned much yet, to be sure, but she had picked out a few pictures from the internet, which were safely tucked in her Pinterest app…

In the safety of her currently empty row of seats, Holly dared to open the app and take a peek into her humble stash of wedding ideas. She had yet to share any of these thoughts with Michael, mainly because he was so preoccupied with his family — but also because she didn't want to freak herself out. So she'd taken it slowly, at first beginning with only some of the wedding colors, and then, going further into the realm of wedding bouquets…

She had to find out what Michael wanted, but as for her, she was thinking green. She was thinking mint green, and soft yellow, like a lemon-lime sort of theme — and she didn't know where or what that would look like, but she knew she wanted lemon-lime, and calla lilies.

Holly couldn't believe she was smiling because of that.

As she swiped idly through the images she'd accumulated on her Pinboard, she tried to think through what their wedding day would even be like. After all, if they were pushing for late November or December, they only had four or five months to plan everything. A wedding dress would need to be ordered _very soon_ , like yesterday. They'd have to decide what kind of wedding they wanted-slash-could-afford, and where, and when they would be available…

A notification popped up on her screen, halting the process completely. She waited to click it, reading the message…

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Hey, honey. I don't know if you've boarded the plane yet or not, or if you'll even see this in all the rush. I just wanted to ask how you were doing._

And Holly's blood ran cold.

Her mother, who hated texting and considered it an untrue form of communication, had just texted her. _Annie Flax_ wanted to talk to her enough that she'd sent the first text message, voluntarily. And no one was dying.

God, she hoped no one was dying.

Still, she wasn't sure if she should answer the message or just wait. The plane was about to take off, and then the conversation would be cut short — but with the way things were going for the two of them, they wouldn't still be talking by then, anyway.

And Holly felt really happy right now, and really confident, and really _good_. She didn't know if she wanted to "be home" just yet.

Then Mom texted again:

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Hopefully meeting the parents went well? I know that was really important to you._

Holly glanced over her shoulder down the aisle, in case Michael was back from the bathroom. He wasn't, so she bit her lip, and, after a good twenty seconds of consideration, typed a little something back.

 _ **You:**_

 _It was good for the most part. Michael got into a little trouble with them, though…_

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Sounds like fun. Were they nice at least?_

 _ **You:**_

 _They were very nice! His SISTER, however, gave us a fun surprise visit. She caused some trouble._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Ew, was she a bitch?_

Holly's eyes widened.

 _ **You:**_

 _I wouldn't call her THAT! She just teased Michael a lot. Her sense of humor was kind of interesting…_

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _But she was a bitch, wasn't she?_

That made her chuckle, and Holly replied:

 _ **You:**_

 _To a certain degree…_

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _On a scale from B to H?_

 _ **You:**_

 _Bitchhhh._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _I KNEW IT. I HAVE A SENSE FOR THESE THINGS._

Holly leaned on her armrest to hide her chuckles at her mother's enthusiastic gossiping. She tilted her head, waiting for Mom's next bubble to finish loading…

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _So everything else has gone smoothly, with the flights and everything? You have someone picking you up from the airport, right?_

 _ **You:**_

 _We're all set. About to take off in a few minutes._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Are you getting dinner on the plane?_

 _ **You:**_

 _I wish. I ate a bunless turkey burger for dinner._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _The hell_

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _That's not food._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Those dicks made you eat a TURKEY BURGER?_

 _ **You:**_

 _I also had some expired Honey Bunches if that counts for anything._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _That's outrageous. That is the pure BASTARDIZATION of turkey. Fuck me sideways…_

 _ **You:**_

 _I'll have to pass._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Oh HA HA. Kill me. Is that better?_

 _ **You:**_

 _I think I could do that._

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Thanks._

Holly huffed another laugh at that, although she could barely read it through the blurry tears in her eyes — which came as a surprise, by the way, randomly and unexpectedly. She didn't know when she had started crying or why, or how she was crying while laughing. This wasn't even an emotional conversation. Why was she tearing up?

" _Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be taking off shortly. Please make sure that your seat belts are fastened, and that all baggage is secured under your seat or in the overhead compartment. Thank you."_

She just really missed her mom.

 _ **You:**_

 _Welp, we're about to take off. Wish us luck._

This wasn't what she wanted to say, of course. She wanted to tell Mom that she loved her, and that she missed her, and that she was sorry she ran off out of the blue — but that was almost too much for a text conversation. Even if it weren't, she wasn't sure her mother was ready to hear it from her, even from miles away.

 _ **Mom Dot Com**_

 _Good luck, hon. Be safe._

Holly froze, eyes locked on the message when it popped up on the screen. She hadn't expected a response to that; her mother wasn't the best at the technological correspondence. She didn't say "goodbye." She didn't say "be safe," ever.

It made her wonder if everything was okay.

"Okay, I'm good, I'm good, I'm back!"

Holly flipped her phone over before Michael reached their row of seats, at a bounding pace after the message that had been played over the speakers. He stepped past her and scooted back over into his window seat, quickly — but not quickly enough to have overlooked the way she hid her phone screen. His eyebrows rose.

"Whatcha looking at?" he asked playfully, gaze bouncing between her eyes and the phone in her lap. Then he leaned in a bit to add, "Something bad?"

Her eyes widened, and she grinned. "Maybe," she muttered before catching his lips warmly. He chuckled, kissing deep into her mouth for a long moment before he pulled back to look at her. His eyes smiled at her.

"Seriously, though," he said, head tilted. "Is it a secret?"

She wasn't sure how to answer that, because while it wasn't a secret, she had, for some reason, instinctively hidden it from him. Maybe she didn't want him to pressure her into any answer — or maybe he'd just surprised her. Either way, she didn't want to show him now that she'd made it into a big deal.

She would deal with it when they got home.

So she tapped the "home" button before turning her phone over, grinning bashfully. "I guess not," she admitted, and looked between him and the screen before opening her Pinterest. She held her breath as her wedding board loaded before their very eyes.

When Michael realized what it was, his lips parted.

"I was just looking," Holly explained right away. She nervously scrolled down to the bottom of the board. "They're ideas, so nothing's set in stone…"

Michael reached over silently, and she handed him the phone. He skimmed the first few items briefly, offering no opinion until…

"I like the colors," he said, sounding genuine.

Holly looked up at him curiously — and she witnessed one of the brightest, most stifled expression of excitement on his face. He was literally pressing his lips together to keep his wide grin from showing. She smiled. "What?"

"I'm getting married," he said in a sing-song tone. He glanced up at her, beaming. "I'm getting married to _you_."

Holly felt heat rise in her cheeks. "I know."

His grin widened, and he planted a kiss on her cheek. Then he returned to the screen — and as he scrolled, he mumbled to himself, "Everybody's gonna be _so jealous_."

* * *

 _ **We're going home...**_


	90. A Love with No Doubt

**Chapter XC**

 **A Love with No Doubt**

* * *

 _Now my soul beats a sound,_

 _Loud enough to quiet the thunder…_

 _A love with no doubt —_

 _And now I'm never gonna slow down._

\- "Body Gold" by Oh Wonder.

* * *

"Hey, look at this, though — look at that. That's indoors. That would work in the winter."

Michael tilted the screen up for her to see the image. She lifted her head from his shoulder just enough to skim the post… before dropping back down. "Honey," she said flatly, but Michael didn't let her finish.

"Wait, just listen to what I'm thinking here. Just imagine," he explained, and reached one hand out as if to paint the picture for her. She snuggled closer to envision with him. "As you're walking down the aisle, into our future together, you're surrounded by memories of the past, drawing us back to the very beginning of human romance. It's like the circle of life, you know? Love was born millions of years ago, and now we're bringing our love back to-"

"I don't wanna get married in a museum," Holly jumped in, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to veto this one."

His forehead wrinkled as he looked down at her. "Seriously? You're not even gonna consider it?"

Holly's mouth opened, but she struggled to think of something to say, smiling nervously. "I don't… Museums aren't _romantic_ …"

"Oh, they aren't?" Michael asked. He turned over to face her, elbow digging into the pillow, body shifting under the sheets. Peering into her mischievous eyes, he added, "But _hotels_ are?"

"More than museums!" she insisted, while her hand sneaked up his side to rub his shoulder. "Hotels are where you go for adventures and sex. Museums just make me think of grade school."

Michael was charmed to hear the word "sex" come out of her mouth, especially while she was here, naked, tangled around him a mere half-hour after they'd _had_ sex — but this didn't change his opinion. He just lifted the phone and tapped on the museum photo. "I'm pinning it."

For some reason, this got a chuckle out of Holly. She kissed his collarbone before muttering, "You like pinning things, don't you?"

" _No_ ," Michael protested, a grin creeping onto his face as he focused on the scrolling screen in front of them. "Maybe. Hey, this is cute…"

He couldn't believe that hours after they'd departed from Florida, he was still hooked on this app. Pinterest was something lame for moms and hipsters to use — not for men with masculine interests such as himself. But something about how much Holly was into this, how she wasn't shying away or spooking, was electrifying to him.

And he really did enjoy pinning things. It felt like an accomplishment in some way.

"Oh, that _is_ cute," Holly said, sitting up halfway. She reached to take the phone and examined the image of a tiered wedding cake, topped with two photos — one of the bride making a kissy-face to the right, and one of the groom making a kissy-face to the left, as if they were blowing kisses to each other. "And really clever! I like that a lot."

So Michael, feeling proud for managing another good find, pinned that sucker and scrolled on.

As he went, his skin rose up in little goosebumps as Holly's arm stretched back, her hand playing with his mussed hair absentmindedly. Her cheek rested on his shoulder warmly, her legs wrapped around his and her chest pressed into his side. They were still in the heavenly post-sex scenario, and there was nothing else that could have made him any happier to be home, in their own bed, in their own apartment. He'd missed being this close to her, even if only for a weekend. He'd missed her warmth in the bed.

Her breath was warm, too, brushing along his chest as she whispered, "What's your favorite kind of cake?"

Michael raised his eyebrows, and his head dropped down onto hers. "I can't answer that off the top of my head. I love a lot of cake. They're all beautiful to me."

"You can't think of one favorite?"

"It'd be like picking between my children," Michael protested, tossing his hand up. "Like Sophie's Choice, except Sophie doesn't eat her children. That would've made the movie much better."

"Zombies always make movies better," Holly added.

He hummed his agreement, and ceased to scroll. "But seriously, I don't know. What's your favorite? I could go for anything."

Holly shrugged again. "I guess my favorite is carrot cake, but I also like-"

" _Barf_ ," Michael cut her off. His expression to her was scorned, as if she'd offended him somehow.

"I thought you could go for anything!"

"I meant any _real_ cake!" he said naturally.

"Carrot cake is real cake!" Holly said, jaw dropped but still half-smiling. "It's sweet, like other cake. It has _icing_ , like other cake."

"It's named after a vegetable," Michael reminded her. "That's not real cake. It's healthy cake. It's like having a V8 for your wedding dessert."

Holly laughed incredulously. "All right, then, cake expert. What's your suggestion?"

"Chocolate," he supplied. "Everyone loves chocolate. You can't go wrong with chocolate."

But she grimaced. "But what if we wind up with chocolate teeth in our wedding pictures? I don't wanna risk that…"

This seemed like a bogus reason to him, but still, he had plenty of ideas. "Red velvet is always a good bet, too."

"But a lot of people don't like it," Holly said. "Plus, red food dye could ruin a wedding gown. I don't wanna risk that, either."

"Okay, well," Michael began, unsure of what to say. He picked the phone up again and started a new search. "There are tons of other good options, so let's just look it up. Pinterest will have the answers."

"Ooh, we could do a lemon cake."

" _Woman_!"

"Lemon cake is classy!" Holly said anyway, and gave him a poke in the ribs. Then her hand flattened over his abdomen, rubbing affectionately there. "Our cake should be something we don't have often, you know? Something special, but also something other people will like."

"Like ice cream cake?" Michael suggested, pointing his thumb at the screen. He looked to her encouragingly, in hopes of a good reaction. He really liked a good ice cream cake.

Holly smiled at the idea, lips curling against his skin. "That would be good…"

He could hear a "but" coming. He craned his neck to look into her eyes, which shone innocence. "But what?"

"I didn't say 'but' anything."

"But it's coming, isn't it?"

"Well, I don't wanna be a fussy bride," she said first, stroking his chest affectionately. "We can do ice cream cake if you want it. I'll let you have one."

Michael squinted at her silently for a moment, before throwing his other arm around her and squeezing her into a hug. Holly burst into giggles, and he smiled, dropping a few kisses into her hair. "No, it's too late — the transition is complete. You're already a fussy bride. It's horrifying."

"No fair," she said with a chuckle.

"Too bad. I don't make the rules," he said. Her smiling eyes bounced from his eyes to his lips, back up to his eyes again; and she pressed a warm, deep kiss to his lips, heavy breath tickling his cheek throughout. His eyes fell shut as he returned the kiss, body leaning more tightly against hers…

He felt very aware of how naked they were, but he didn't have time to do anything before she pulled away.

"Oh," she said, a bit of an exclamation.

"Yeah," Michael crooned, hand sliding down to her ass — but she reached over to pick up her phone, interrupting the moment. He furrowed his brow. "Did you get an idea?"

"I think I might have," Holly said, typing idly. "Do you remember on our fourth date, when we were talking about our birthdays and you brought up your seventh birthday…?"

"My only good birthday, yes," he picked up immediately with a nod. While she worked her way to whatever point she was making, Michael pulled her hair back over the pillow and stamped little kisses on her neck. In between, he added, "I had chocolate cake that year. What's your point?"

"No, you didn't," she reminded him, and tapped the screen. "Remember? It was a weird kind, and I'd never tried it. And then that night, we got a little drunk and we went down to the grocery store to get some cake mix…"

Michael paused his kissing to stare at the mattress in deep thought, before replying, "I remember that night… _vividly_ … but I thought it was just regular chocolate…"

And that's when he realized what she was referencing, and his eyes widened. He lifted his head to look at her; she was already smiling as she turned the screen to him. She revealed the image — a five-tiered confetti cake, with a little bride-and-groom figurine on top. It was a real confetti wedding cake. He didn't know those even existed.

"Really?" Michael asked first, before he could get excited. He looked back at Holly, who nodded happily. He reached to look more closely at it the rainbow-speckled cake. "Is this a serious option?"

"I think it's worth sampling," Holly said, grinning. She pressed her mouth into his shoulder to hide her smile. "That night was one of my favorite memories, so I think it'd be fitting for our wedding."

He bit his lip at the thought. "It _was_ a pretty fantastic night… First food I ever ate off you."

Holly had a little gasp at that, cheeks instantly growing pink in just the way he loved to see. She chuckled scandalously. "Maybe we don't tell that story at our wedding."

"Or maybe we _do_."

"Or maybe we don't," she insisted lightheartedly, and kissed his ear. There, she whispered, "Maybe it can be our wedding-day inside joke."

 _That_ was probably the sexiest thing he'd ever heard. He had to take a breath to keep from rolling onto her right then.

"I do like inside jokes," he mumbled excitedly. Holly hummed her agreement, kissing his cheek before pulling back to look at him. He looked down at her lips for a moment. "I like pinning things, too. Can I pin it?"

"Of course," Holly said as she bequeathed the phone to him. He instantly pinned the confetti cake, and returned home from the search. There, while Holly's lips tickled his neck, he scrolled for a moment, because he couldn't help it…

Meanwhile, she ran her knee up his leg seductively and muttered, "Are you just gonna pin things all night?"

"Maybe," Michael said, eyes locked on the screen continually. He couldn't help the fast-growing addiction that was Pinterest — but it wasn't that he _couldn't_ put it down, really. He just didn't wanna stop until he'd reached the end of the page. Refreshing the page meant that he was making a commitment, just like marriage. He had to see it through.

"See anything good?"

He shrugged. "Not really. A bunch of do-it-yourself wedding favors…"

"Oh, we're gonna need favors, aren't we?" Holly realized, pausing the kisses. She glanced up at his face. "Maybe we should make our own favors. It'd be a lot cheaper than buying them."

"But then we can't get them engraved or custom…" Michael began, but his voice trailed off when he reached the last image at the bottom of the page — one which was _definitely_ not "D.I.Y" and not something they'd be giving to their guests.

He meant to finish the sentence, but he lost his train of thought.

It wasn't the wedding dress Holly would choose, by any means. He couldn't imagine her ever going for something strapless in the middle of winter. He couldn't imagine her liking the long veil, either, and the longer he looked at it, the less he actually liked the dress itself, but…

"Custom…" Holly probed, nodding her head. He looked up at her. "Custom-made?"

Michael's mouth opened but no sound came out, because when he looked at her, with her tangled hair and her light freckles making an appearance through the day's fading foundation, and her lips still a little red from the past few hours' activities — when he looked at her now, naked, wrapped in a sheet, he couldn't help but think of her in that wedding dress…

"What?" she asked, a smile creeping onto her face — and it was beautiful enough that his mouth became dry. He swallowed hard, mind blank and scrambling for something to say.

 _You're going to be a gorgeous bride. You're going to be my wife._

"You're…" he started, shaking his head. He looked her up and down, just trying to form the words. He didn't know if he was just too excited or turned on or floored, but he couldn't get the thought out. She watched him intently, waiting.

He cleared his throat and tried again, "You're just… It's going to be…"

"I know," Holly cut him off, even her eyes smiling.

"But you're, you're not…" he kept on, clearing his throat again. "You're not afraid?"

When the words came out, his eyes widened at himself. This wasn't what he'd been planning to say. He hadn't even realized that he'd been thinking it — and he _definitely_ didn't want to confront her with this yet, when she was finally getting excited about this.

But it didn't seem to surprise her. In fact, her face was only blank for a moment before returning to a small grin.

"I am," Holly admitted, biting her lip.

He blinked at her. "Oh…"

"A little bit. Not a lot," she amended, setting her hand on his cheek. She played with the hair behind his ear, looking there absently now. "But if there's anything I realized this weekend, it's that… I _have_ a family. I have people I love, and I don't wanna keep myself from that — I don't… wanna get in my own way anymore. Not with you, not with my parents, not… with anything."

And she looked up at him with open, decisive eyes. And Michael swallowed.

"I have cheated myself out of too many good things in my life and I'm not doing it anymore," Holly finished firmly. Her gaze flitted over his face studiously, lips parting to draw a shallow breath. "Marrying you… would be a _privilege_. There's nothing scary about that."

And this answer, to the question he hadn't even known he was asking, was the actual, _official,_ sexiest thing he'd ever heard in his entire life. He had no response for it, either.

After a moment, Holly then settled a hand behind his neck and tilted her head toward him. "So let's plan this wedding," she whispered, squinting at him, "okay?"

Michael blinked at her for a few seconds in anticipation of something — some words to come to mind, maybe — but he just kept looking between her eyes, which were as dead-certain as her pursed lips, and both so close…

He caught his breath all at once, and finding no other response suitable, fell down to her lips by magnetic pull. He kissed her deeply and slowly, full of affection and sheer pressure as he pushed her down into the pillow. She inhaled shallowly but earnestly, as though he'd taken her breath away; and he intended to do that, taking each of her lips into his mouth, one at one instant and one at another…

But she brought the alternation to a stop when she tugged at his lower lip, her arms lazily hooking over the back of his head and drawing him harder down into her mouth. He tried to maintain some sense of control in the situation, but she parted his lips with her tongue and it sent warmth through his body, so that his thoughts became blurry.

His hands dropped from her hair then and slipped under her back, pulling her up to his body so that he could feel her breasts and her hips pressed flush against him. His eyes squeezed shut when her bare legs peeked out from the sheets to wrap around his waist, while she dove into his mouth until he was burning with arousal…

Her breaths grew shaky on his cheek, and he opened his mouth to allow her more air. But he could only withdraw for seconds at a time before he needed her tongue in his mouth again. Her chest rose and fell with her quickening breaths, as the sheets slipped off her breasts and left them bare to the touch. She gasped, and he moaned at the sound and the sensation…

Then she broke the kiss out of necessity, in order to catch her breath. Michael felt the blood rushing downward in his body, but he took this opportunity to breathe, himself — and to look down at the newly-revealed skin. This made the effort to breathe more difficult.

But then he had this moment to look up at her — his future blushing bride, with her reddening lips and her shallow breathing. He huffed a breath, grinning. She smiled at him.

"I'm gonna pin _you,_ " he muttered playfully.

Holly laughed, shaking her head at him. He chuckled, trying to think of some more lame jokes…

But she didn't give him the opportunity, and kissed him again.

* * *

 _ **Wedding planning! Thanks for the reviews :)**_


	91. My Single Friends are Jealous

**Chapter XCI**

 **My Single Friends are Jealous**

* * *

 _He is sensible_

 _And so incredible_

 _And all my single friends are jealous…_

\- "The Way I Loved You" by Taylor Swift.

* * *

When Holly told people she enjoyed paperwork, no one — particularly Michael — believed her. But she'd discovered it from a young age, filling out worksheets in school and _especially_ teacher feedback at the end of the year. Chemistry, Home Economics, P.E., and other such hands-on classes had never maintained her interest. She didn't have to hold something in her hand in order to be willing to learn about it. More often than not, it distracted her, to be both physically and mentally engaged in something. But you put a stack of documents with blank spaces in front of her and she could zone out for _hours_.

" _Where did you come from, where did you go_?" Holly muttered to herself as she swiftly ticked through the boxes down the side of the performance evaluation form. She'd joined the company just in time to catch PR season, which, to Hollis Partridge Flax, was the Wimbledon of H.R. — or the Super Bowl, or March Madness, to name a few _actual_ sports.

The trouble with this timing, however, was that Holly had only been working here a couple weeks before this cropped up. She barely knew the people on this floor, and she was supposed to be assessing not only the ninth floor, but some employees from the eighth and tenth. Before she could meet with any of these people, though, she wanted to look over their _previous_ H.R. assessments and get the obvious details out of the way. It was grunt work.

And she _loved_ it.

" _Where did you come from, Cot_ \- oh, damn," she stopped herself halfway through the lyric. Michael had gotten the song stuck in her head on the drive over here on Monday. Exactly twenty-nine hours later, she was now officially out of the humming phase and into the full-fledged singing-on-loop phase. Pretty soon, she would be listening to the song on YouTube, and…

Twenty-nine hours. Was it really lunchtime already?

She'd been extremely sucked into work this morning, not because of the sheer amount of work to be done, but more out of avoidance of other things. For one thing, she had yet to visit her mother since their return home, and the longer she waited, the more anxious she felt about it. For another, there were the wedding plans — which, while exciting to think about, were _enormous_ and a bit overwhelming. She hadn't realized that Michael's dream wedding date, 11/11/11, was about four months away. And four months was hardly enough time to plan a wedding.

" _Where did you come from, where did you go?_ "

All she had pinned down so far were calla lilies, confetti cake, some color samples, and… that was it. She had virtually nothing.

" _Where did you come from, Cotton-Eyed…_ " Holly sang, before dissolving into a sigh, head hanging over the shadowed pages.

She did know which song would _not_ be played at her wedding.

The interesting thing about it all, though, was how suddenly it had come up. She'd been engaged to Michael for almost four months already, and yet, they'd hardly talked about the wedding before now. The move down to Colorado and their unemployment, and then her freak-out phase, and then her feud with her mother, and then visiting _his_ mother — everything had snowballed into this huge thing, leaving them with half the time they would have had before all this.

But despite all that, Holly knew that nothing would have happened before now, anyway. She'd been too scared to let it happen. She'd been freaking out about even _living together_. It was now, after they'd been through all that shift and limbo and mayhem, that she felt prepared for marriage. They'd even had their first big fight already! It felt like a four-month trial period, and now that they'd seen it through, she wasn't scared anymore…

She was so ready to put this thing together. She was ready to get dressed up and walk down that aisle and see him there, waiting for her… and to dance at their _wedding_ together, husband and wife…

Maybe she was a little nervous, but it was a happy, excited kind of nervous. It was the kind of nervous that made her want to daydream about it when she was supposed to be working on one of her biggest projects of the year…

Then it sounded as if a body had been thrown her door — _and that's an H.R. nightmare_ — and Holly jumped half-out of her chair.

" _Hey, H.R.!"_

" _Hey, it's lunchtime! Get out here!"_

Holly caught her breath as she realized that the sound was not a body, but rather, a bunch of fists beating on her door. There were at least two, if not three people pounding at her door relentlessly. She huffed a breath, standing up to go let them in.

Behind the door, the knocking culprits revealed themselves — Heather, naturally, along with Hughes, who worked in the back hall along with Holly. And then, there was another familiar face, and it took Holly a second to place her.

"Lex?" Holly asked as soon as it came to her, eyebrows raised.

"Hi!" Lex exclaimed, bouncing a little bit as she spoke. Holly wasn't sure what had her so excited — or here at the office, for that matter. But she had a feeling it had something to do with the binder in Lex's arms and the laptop Heather clutched to her chest. When Holly noticed these, Lex beamed. "We heard you started planning the wedding!"

"And don't deny it," Heather jumped in. "Ginny told us, because Michael told her yesterday, and he said you're doing it in six months, which is ballsy and will require our _sage wisdom_."

Holly wrinkled her forehead, leaning against the doorway. "Six months? How many months does he think there are?"

"I love winter weddings!" Lex said, still bouncing. "And listen — so this is random, but when I was seventeen-"

"Lex, she doesn't need all the-"

"-I thought _I_ was going to get married," she continued despite Heather's interruption. "Obviously, that was not a thing that happened. Big misunderstanding — guy tried to turn me into a crack whore, then started being _really nice_ to me to keep me from calling the cops-"

"This is a _long_ story to tell in a doorway," Heather tried.

"-it turned into this romantic thing, but I just really couldn't get over the fact that he wanted to get me addicted to crack," Lex finished, shrugging her shoulders. "But anyway! So I know a lot of venues, and I had this binder full of ideas, so I dug it out of this trunk in my closet _just for you_! We are gonna plan the _hell_ outta this wedding!"

"I got dragged into this," came from the right, where Hughes still stood at Heather's side — holding her hand, oddly enough. He smiled sheepishly at Holly. "I'll try to help, but I just want you to _know_ that this is purely a hostage situation."

Heather smirked back at him and squeezed his hand. "I'll let go if you want."

Hughes eyebrows rose, as if considering this, but he just grinned. "No, you won't."

"Oh, I might."

"Then go ahead."

"Not right _now_ ," she muttered, pulling him closer by the hand. While the two of them made faces at each other, Holly looked over at Lex, who was silently pretending to gag herself.

Once the flirtatious muttering was over, Heather said audibly, "Can you go get me a soda?"

"Mhm," he hummed, before finally letting go of her hand to head back down the hall. Heather watched him go until he turned the corner, leaving Lex and Holly in awkward silence.

Holly, unsure of what to say, glanced between Lex and Heather before whispering, "When did this happen?"

"Over the we-"

"-weekend," Lex answered at the same time as Heather, in a much more irritated tone. "She got into his pants on Friday, and hasn't taken her mind out of them since."

"That is right," Heather said, nodding, eyes squeezed shut in an expression of pure victory. She threw her fist up in the air, whispering, " _I got laid_."

Holly grinned, and glanced down the hall where Hughes left. "It seemed like a little more than that," she suggested with a knowing smile. Heather's smile widened, though she looked down to hide it. "Do you think it's becoming… a thing?"

"I don't know," Heather said, shrugging…

"Oh, _yuh-huh_!" Lex said a bit loudly, and shoved Heather's arm. "I spent the weekend at her place, and _all_ she talked about was _Donovan does this_ , oh, _Donovan said that_ …"

"Bullshit," Heather muttered anyway. "Do not. You kept bringing him up."

"How is 'where do you plug in the toaster' bringing him up?"

"Would you shut it?" Heather snapped, though she was still blushing. She looked around suspiciously at the doors nearest to them. "Remember what I told you? About _the rule_?"

Lex didn't seem to remember this at first, until it hit her. "Oh, right. Damn, man. Sorry. Memory of a squirrel." She looked at Holly, then, and repeated, "Super sorry. I'll be careful."

"That's all right," Holly assured with a nod, looking between the two and their binder and laptop full of wedding plans. She inhaled. "So should we go sit down?"

"Yes!" Lex said, turning to lead them down the hallway. She looked back at Holly and Heather as they walked. "This is gonna be so much fun! Most of my ideas were for a summer wedding, but I have some winter stuff in the back — do you like valleys? I love valley weddings!"

"No, out- outdoor?" Heather asked, brow furrowed. "Here? Yick!"

"Yick?"

"Yes!" she insisted — and Holly looked over at her again. "It gets _so nut-freezing_ in February. Don't do an outdoor. I'm not _coming_ if it's an outdoor."

"But the scenery here is _gorgeous_!" Lex practically shouted. "You can't move to the mountains and have your wedding in a church. It's beyond frowned-upon — it's forbidden, actually."

Heather's eyes widened, bouncing between the two of them as they all rounded the corner to the break room. "Are you s- okay, I'll say again: _nut-freezing weather_ , out there." She jabbed a finger at Holly's stomach. "They want kids, Lex. How does he do that without his nuts?"

"Actually, we weren't-" Holly started, breaking the argument between the two of them. "We weren't getting married in February. We initially decided on November."

Lex dropped her binder on the nearest table and plopped into her chair. "Well, it's a little warmer then. Plus you get nine more months to plan the wedding."

A brief silence ensued, save for the hum of the running microwave in the background.

Holly blinked at that, slowing inching down into a nearby seat, before realizing what she meant. "Oh, uh… I'm meaning _this_ November. This year."

Heather's laptop dropped on the table at that. Holly jumped, eyes widening.

" _This_ November?" Heather clarified, hands landing on the table. "In three months?"

She could tell that Heather didn't like this, so she bit her lip and added, "Almost four."

Heather slumped down into the seat between Holly and Lex, whining, "That's not enough time to plan a wedding! Are you kidding me?"

Then the microwave burst into unfriendly beeping, and Heather slipped right back to her feet to retrieve her lunch. This left Lex and Holly in her wake, both with their eyebrows raised.

"I… know four months isn't a lot," Holly admitted, shrugging. "But I think we can make it work. The date's not set yet or anything, though."

"Hey, hey, Heather's just in bitch mode today," Lex interrupted, shaking one hand at her while the other pulled the heavy binder open onto the table. "I think you can pull it off in four months if you wanna. It's just gonna take some devotion and strategy."

"And magic…"

"Oh, pipe down with the negativity. Jesus."

"It's not negativity!" Heather said, while searching the kitchen drawers for something. "It's impossible, okay? And with M- with _your fiance?_ I've never seen him get anything done under a deadline."

Meanwhile, Lex just kept quiet and slid her binder toward Holly. She pointed at what was labeled the "Dress Selection" section and gestured for Holly to flip through it. Holly smiled and leaned over to look through the pictures…

"Not to say that _I_ have, but you're not marrying me," she continued over her shoulder. "But hey, if you were, we would be taking a full year to plan things. I mean, your wedding day is the best day of your life. It's the only day you get to look hella fine without any effort and show off your amazing life to all your friends and family. And you're guaranteed sex at the end of the day!"

Holly pointed to the open-backed dress on the second page, nodding silently. Lex beamed at her choice and reached into her purse, to retrieve a half-used pad of sticky notes.

"You'll need time to reserve a venue, and to get the dress shipped, and- oh god, you'll _never_ find a caterer in four months. Not around here. Oh, you guys are so screwed…"

"Well, I might know a caterer."

Holly and Lex jolted at the sound of another voice — and they found Hughes standing in the doorway, having returned to them. Holly sat up straighter. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging a shoulder. He stepped into the room, rounding the table to where Heather had just sat back down. "I mean, maybe. They _might_ be booked, but they're relatively new here, so I don't think you couldn't get them in. It's just this nice, elegant Italian place — a little bit out of the way, but seriously good. If that's the kind of thing you're looking for, you know."

"That sounds great," Holly said with a grin. "We'll have to see when we can try them out. As long as they're not… _super_ expensive…"

Hughes leaned on the back of a chair and shook his head. "They're pretty good about that right now. Who knows what they'll be like in a few months, but you never know. Just an option."

Something about this tickled Heather, who looked up at him with an even _genuine_ -seeming smile. "Look who's helping out. Hostage."

He chuckled, pulling a chair out for himself. "Well, I try."

Lex typed this into her phone in the meantime, and replied, "That's a good place to start. You'll also need decorations, seating arrangements, the cake, everything planned and ordered… Picking bridesmaids, also. Wink, wink," she said, with an exaggerated wink. "No, I'm kidding. Don't feel awkward. But _if you wanted to_. But I'm kidding."

"Make me a bridesmaid," Heather said uninhibitedly, leaning into Hughes's shoulder. "It could be me, Lex, and Ginny. We could be your bride-crew."

"You can't _ask_ to be a bridesmaid," Lex pointed out.

"But we'd be so hot!"

"Where is Ginny?" Holly asked, as it had just now occurred to her. She glanced between the two women with a furrowed brow. "She's usually with you guys."

This brought on an awkward silence, punctuated only with Heather's stabbing of her fork. Lex looked down at her binder studiously. Hughes didn't seem to have a clue about this.

Finally, Heather sighed. "She's been on one of her binges all weekend."

"Hey!"

"She's not _here_ ," Heather protested. "It would be private if she hadn't blown off work and made _you_ miss class to cover for her. She's being a jerk."

"Is she all right?" Holly asked despite this exchange, leaning forward. "Is she upset about something?"

Lex shook her head quickly. "No. That's just her sometimes — she sees Walt drunk off his ass and she gets mad and then _she_ gets drunk off her ass and thinks it's somehow gonna fix things."

"Didn't she get him into rehab last week?" Heather asked. She wiggled her fingers between Hughes's and muttered, "I thought she was dealing with him. She seemed pretty positive about it."

"She didn't tell me about that," Lex complained. "But I know he's not there now — I mean, he came _over_ to see her. Trashed the whole place."

"Damn. What did you do?"

"He wouldn't leave!" she exclaimed — and then dropped it down to a whisper. "I had to call Tristan at two in the morning to come kick him out."

This all felt very personal for Holly to be hearing, but she couldn't help but feel worried for the girl. Ginny was easily a decade younger than Holly, and to be dealing with an alcoholic…

"Anyway," Lex said, sitting up again. She reached over for the binder. "Let's talk about venues."

"Okay," Holly breathed, probably for the first time since the conversation started.

* * *

 _ **Happy Sunday! Thanks for the reviews and continued support.**_


	92. You Know Where You Belong

**Chapter XCII**

 **You Know Where You Belong**

* * *

 _I'll leave it alone —_

 _Back off if you want._

 _I know that it's wrong,_

 _But you know where you belong._

\- "Waiting" by Aquilo.

* * *

 _Thank you, Garfield._

Michael didn't fancy himself a chef at heart, although he liked to believe he had a natural talent for the thing. It was fun to do on the occasion, usually if he were having company over or trying to impress the elusive third-date. On the whole, though, it was a fleetingly-satisfying hobby. It never tasted half as good as anything he could pick up in the comfort of his driver's seat.

Since he and Holly had moved in together, though, he was taking every opportunity to stay in and make dinner. It was part of the reason he'd trimmed down a bit in the past few months. But that wasn't _why_ he liked to cook.

"Oh, I forgot the- hey, honey?"

Michael, having been preoccupied with pretending not to be looking at Holly, now looked up at Holly. He fought with a grin as he sang, "Yesh?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped to smile at that. He smiled back, more to himself as he glanced back down at the browning beef in the skillet. In his peripheral vision, he watched her lean over to look at the phone on the counter — legs swinging off the edge of the countertop absentmindedly. "Did we remember to get… sixteen ounces of ricotta?"

He squinted, thinking over their brief trip to the grocery store yesterday. "I'm pretty s- yeah, I remember," he said, and set his spatula aside, turning to open the fridge, "grabbing it at the last… yep, here she is." He grabbed the cheese out of the door and held it up high.

"Thank you," Holly said, and opened her hands to catch. He tossed the block of cheese up in the air, and it landed neatly in her hands. She dropped it into her lap and turned back to the phone for the recipe.

Michael returned to the stove, to pretend to watch the beef turn un-pink some more — but instead, while she was busy reading, he sneaked a peek again. She looked just gorgeous, in her Winnie the Pooh apron, with her hair hanging down in her eyes as she read until she reached up to pull it back… And Michael subconsciously sighed. He had a really pretty fiancee.

And he couldn't explain it without sounding misogynistic — because _apparently_ , he came off that way sometimes — but something about seeing her in her apron was just so adorable. It wasn't just because she _looked_ hot with Winnie the Pooh stretching over her tits, either. She just always looked so comfortable, and confident, and happy, and just _relaxed_ whenever she cooked. It seemed to take her out of things.

So he liked to cook with her. He liked to see her this way.

Also, she was just really _good_ at it. She tricked him into eating squash once, and he _liked it_. It was horrifying.

"So what do I do after this is done?" Michael asked. He raked the spatula over the meat to examine the color, which was barely removed from the original bright pink. Still, he liked to keep up with what would happen next. Time management was not his forte.

"Oh," Holly seemed to realize — and he looked over just in time to catch her hiding a smile. "Let me get the recipe back…"

He raised an eyebrow, eying her sideways. "I thought you were looking at the recipe already."

"Well, I was," she said as she stopped stirring to pick up her phone. Her voice lowered to add, "I was just responding to something."

Michael instantly bobbed his head. "Oh, I get it. You'd rather be with your _friends_."

"They're not- _no_ ," Holly protested, but it was a weak protest. "I'm happy to be here, with you."

"Uh-huh," he teased, narrowing his eyes. "I think you like your new gal pals more than you like me."

She chuckled at that — smiling in a way that made him think she liked the idea of having "gal pals" — and shook her head as she resumed stirring. "I like you much more, and in a _very_ different way."

He hummed sarcastically. "What do I do after the meat is done, Miss Congeniality?"

Holly made a face at him before replying, "Then we put it all together. Is the oven preheating?"

Michael glanced down to check, and quickly turned the dial. "It is now."

"Then we're almost ready to bake," Holly announced. She shifted off her knees and into Indian-style on the countertop, which made her look even cuter as she resumed stirring the lump of cheese into the mixture. When she lifted her head, he looked away quickly, a smile coming over his face.

Meanwhile, the beef was turning a nice light-light-pink color.

This was the most boring job ever.

"For your information," Holly said, tone sounding mock-defiant — but when he met her eyes, she looked down, a bashful smile on her face. "I really wasn't texting. I was looking at wedding venues."

Michael dropped his spatula, and didn't even pick it up again. " _Without me_?" he half-gasped.

"Just a little bit!" she admitted guiltily, but she was beaming too much to actually look guilty. "Lex had some suggestions, and she sent me the links, so I've just been-"

"You're cheating on me with Lex!"

Holly's jaw dropped. "It's not cheating! I'm just looking around!"

"I wanna look around!" Michael said, completely abandoning the beef-watching to meet her at the counter. He saw that her phone was unlocked, so he craned his neck to see what she was reading — but she pulled it to her chest. He furrowed his brow.

"They're not actual ideas that we'd use," Holly explained, before he could react. She set her mixing bowl aside. "They're just fantasy things."

His eyebrows shot up, and his chin lowered, and his voice to a whisper. "Oh… Like… _sexual_?"

"No!" she said, grinning nervously. She shrugged. "I don't know. They're just something Lex saw that she liked, but it's not anything _you_ would like."

"Why not?" Michael questioned, while his hands settled on her thighs casually. "I can handle pink. I'm not anti-pink."

Holly shook her head again and set her hands on his, idly rubbing his wrists. Biting her lip, she muttered, "It's just a few places in the mountains. I know you don't want it to be out in the cold, though, so we won't go that way. I was just humoring her."

She looked up at him to wait for his reaction, and bit her lip again.

Michael thought about this for a moment. "Well, it _would_ be cold…"

"And you don't like that," she reminded him.

"…but I like snow," he offered, looking directly into her eyes so that she knew he wasn't just saying it. She didn't seem to understand his meaning, until it hit her, and the corners of her mouth fell. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

"I mean," Michael quickly added in some scrambled effort to interpret her expression. "I like indoor weddings, too, but I like- and it doesn't have to be a snowy part of the mountains, either. I just…"

"I haven't settled on anything yet, if you don't want to," Holly said, squinting at him. "If you hate the idea, you can tell me."

"I really don't!" he assured her, squeezing her knees. "The mountains are really cool, and I- I like _log cabins_ , and we could stay in one for our wedding night. And we could snuggle by the fire, and it would feel like Christmas. I love Christmas."

"Really?" she asked — and her smile was creeping back. "Because I just feel like we aren't really connected to any churches here…"

"We don't know a minister, either," Michael added.

"And churches are always cold, anyway," Holly continued, shrugging. "And you don't like hotels, and I don't like museums…"

"And we're right by the Rocky Mountains! It's like… having a destination wedding in our backyard."

"And my dad wouldn't have to travel too far," she said finally, the words coming out like a breath she'd been holding for hours. When she met his eyes, he could see the weight in them — and he felt that this was a very important aspect of the wedding venue for her. He nodded his agreement.

"Okay, then," he said, and took her hands. "Then let's look at some venues and see if we like anything, and if… we can find something in time, then yeah. I like it."

Holly nodded, her lips pressed together tightly, and squeezed his hands in hers. He still tried to read her eyes for whatever she was thinking, but his gaze was drawn down to her reddening lips, which she rubbed together incessantly…

The timer on the oven released a loud boop — it wasn't quite a beep — and broke their stare-off at the source. Michael inhaled, blinking away the thoughts that had zoned him out to turn back to the stove. A thick cloud of steam had accumulated over the pan of sizzling, now hissing meat.

"Oh, sh-"

"That's- ten minutes," Holly remarked as he rushed over to tend to his beef. "How does it look?"

He didn't know how to answer that when he could hardly _see_ it. He waved the steam away, mostly into his eyes, as he searched for the beef. "Where's the beef?" he muttered to himself, but there was no time to chuckle over it.

There it was.

"We're good!" Michael shouted, throwing his hands up and backing away from the stove. "We are good. Cooked to perfection."

"It's done?"

"It's _just_ done!"

"Okay, well, don't- take it off the burner-"

"Oh, right, right," he said, and jumped back into action. He lifted the steaming pan cautiously and turned toward Holly, who was already setting out a potholder. "Now we… put it in the pan, mark it with a… an 'S'…"

"Oh-ho," Holly remarked with a grin. "So I'm taking your name, huh?"

Michael stopped midway above the potholder. He looked up at her slowly. "Uh… I mean, I don't-"

"I'm kidding," she said, waving for him to set the pan down. "Relax. I'd rather we both take a mixture of our names. Like… Flott."

His eyes widened, and he hesitated to respond until he knew if it was a joke. Holly just blinked at him.

"Or Scax."

She wasn't even cracking a smile. Michael's chest constricted a little bit as he heard it in his head. _Michael Scax._

"Or Scaxflott-"

"You're _messing_ with me again!" he cut her off, jaw dropped. He shoved her shoulder lightly, and she shoved him back, laughing. He jabbed a finger at her. "That's not funny. I'm not laughing."

"I'm sorry," Holly said between giggles. She set the mixing bowl on her other side and reached her arms out for him. "I'm sorry. You're cute."

"That doesn't- comfort me," he muttered as she pulled him in, head lowered. She hummed her amusement and wrapped her arms around his neck loosely — and he let himself smile, then. She bit her lip as she reeled him in between her knees, up to the edge of the counter.

The sizzling noise in the background faded slowly into a dull crackle, leaving them in complete silence; just looking at each other with ridiculous grins. Michael wet his lips anxiously, gaze bouncing between her eyes as he tried to think of something funny to say…

But he didn't need to, because Holly went ahead and kissed him without another word. Her lips were warm, as he'd suspected from the way she'd been sucking on them — she tasted a little bit like the Keebler House cookies they'd opened to tide them over before dinner. Her kisses were deep and open-mouthed…

Michael had a feeling that this wouldn't be a finished work before they put the lasagna in the oven, but he would not lose it for a lack of trying. So he slid his hands into the back of her pants and slowly brought her toward the edge of the counter, pulling her hips to his, her legs open and wrapping around him. When she didn't break the kiss, but took to his lower lip, he had to catch his breath.

It was when Holly lightly bit his lip and tugged, then, that he inevitably groaned from arousal and things had to end. Holly was the one to separate, face a little pink already, muttering, "We should probably finish this before we… finish that."

"Have you thought about your mom?" Michael asked, without mentally consulting it. It was just a thought continued from earlier that popped up because she made his mind stop working when her legs were open.

Holly's eyes widened, and she unlaced her arms from around his neck. "What a turn on…" she breathed sarcastically, half-smiling from confusion.

Then he heard it.

"Oh, I- no, I meant- no," he stuttered, confused and flustered and very aroused, "I didn't mean that. I meant… for connections with venues… because we were talking about the wedding. Can you-" Michael didn't finish the question, and simply set his hands on her knees, sliding them closer together. Then he backed up a solid three steps. "That's a little better. Okay. So your mom."

"I don't wanna talk about my mom just at this moment," Holly interrupted, reasonably.

"That makes sense," Michael breathed, and manually turned himself forty-five degrees toward the glass dish they were supposed to be filling. "So we've got the noodles, uh, here…"

"It's spinach next," Holly said, before he even had to ask. She handed him the bowl, which was good, because he needed something to do to get back into normal-non-sex-brain.

While he poured his focus into spreading the spinach mix, though, Holly was oddly silent and peculiarly still as she sat there watching him. He wondered if he'd come on too strongly with the making-out — but then, she'd been the one to initiate it, so he didn't think he'd bothered her. It was just hard to tell with her sometimes. She had very random, very specific insecurities, and he'd _just_ gotten her to try some different kinds of lingerie…

"I'm scared," Holly said, out of nowhere. Michael's head shot up, eyes a bit wide. It was as though she'd read his mind.

He wasn't sure how to answer that.

"We can…" he started, while inside, he kept rewriting whatever he was planning to say. "We don't have to… I mean, we just- we don't have to, tonight… do, any- I mean, we don't- we _just_ did yest-"

"I'm scared to see my parents," she amended.

Finally, the awkward rambling stopped and, suddenly, transformed — bursting into bright, beautiful colors and glistening feathers — into an awkward silence.

Holly dug her palms into the countertop as she continued, "I miss them… _so_ bad, but I just…" Nothing came next, so she threw her hand up and lowered her eyes.

Michael stopped his anxious spinach-spreading, frowning. "Well, that makes sense. It's okay."

"And I came here to be with them," Holly muttered, shaking her head at herself. "I only have so much time like this with my dad, while he's still- while he knows me. And I'm planning my _wedding_ , and I'm not doing it with my mom, and that's not how it's supposed to be. I should be over this. I should go there."

"Are you still mad at her?" he asked. He wasn't sure what she was hinting toward. "Not that you shouldn't be. I'd… probably, still be mad."

She looked up at him, her expression an affirmative "no" to that. "It's not that. It's not her. I mean, it's kinda her, but it's also my dad, and it's… This situation, that is _inescapable_. It's like if I'm not there, I don't have to deal with it — but then if I'm not there, I'm losing time with him, and I'm not helping her through it, but at least we aren't _fighting_ \- I don't want to spend the time he has left fighting, or confusing him about you and where I live, or scaring him because he doesn't… _know_ me sometimes. Sometimes he doesn't know me."

"I know," Michael said, taking her hand quickly. "I know, it's a stupid situation. It's horrible."

"And I don't wanna go back there, and have him look at me…" Holly said, biting hard on her lip as she caught her breath. She cringed a little, looking down at their hands.

Michael studied her for a moment before cautiously asking, "Why?"

She inhaled sharply, not quite crying — just in this place of visible pain and anxiety. Not knowing what to do with that, he just rubbed her hand in both of his…

"I'm scared of him," she admitted, expression shrinking as if this were horrifying to say. "And I can't go over there and have him look at me the way he did when- I can't see him looking at me like he wants to hurt me. Because that's not Dad. That's not him — he would _never_ …"

Her hand was shaking in his, and her whole body was wrought with nerves, and she wasn't crying. She wasn't all teary and pink-faced in the way that made him panic. She was just… terrified, and guilty.

And that was somehow worse.

So he went with his gut, because when he didn't know what to do, he just ran on the impulse. He pushed the glass dish and the pan of ground beef and the mixing bowl all to the end of the counter and hoisted himself up onto it — and he scooted over to her, no longer in any position that would seem leading or sexual — and he just wrapped his arms completely around her shoulders, and pulled her in. And it was stiff at first, while Holly ran the nerves out, but eventually, her shoulders caved and her hands stopped trembling.

Michael took a deep breath during this silence, trying to think of the most comforting thing to say, but nothing was coming. In fact, the only thing he had to say wouldn't be fun at all. She was going to disagree.

"I think you need to see your mom, hon," Michael suggested. "I just think it's important."

"I can't, Michael-"

"Hey," he said gently, head resting on hers. "You made me see my mom, and even though that was a wreck, I feel a lot better now. I think you should see yours."

"But my dad," she mumbled, and her voice sounded very small just then. She really was scared.

So Michael squeezed her tighter to his side and whispered, "I'll be there, right? We can do it together, as a team. Just like we did in Florida."

Holly still didn't seem to like the idea, settling into his shoulder with a long sigh…

"As a team," she said reluctantly. She turned her head into his shirt, huffing a nervous breath. "Team Scaxflott."

Michael blinked, silent for a moment. He lifted his head to look at her seriously.

"That was mean, and you know it."

"You were so serious about it," Holly said, chuckling slightly. "I thought you were gonna pee."

"Because I was going to pee!" Michael protested. "I thought I was gonna have to take 'Flax'. Think about the initials for Michael Flax."

Holly thought about this for a moment, and looked up thoughtfully. "Well, now I'm thinking we should go with Flax."

"That's-" he started, and just pinched her nose in frustration. "You're mean."

"I love you."

"I might not even let you have my name. You might be stuck with Flax for the rest of your life."

Holly's brow furrowed. "Now _that's_ mean."

" _I love you_ ," Michael shot back teasingly, and Holly gave him a half-playful shove in recompense.

* * *

 _ **Pride month is over but this fic still fucking isn't. Enjoy :)**_


	93. I Wouldn't Leave You

**Chapter XCIII**

 **I Wouldn't Leave You**

* * *

 _I wouldn't leave you —_

 _I would hold you,_

 _When the last day comes…_

 _What if you need me?_

\- "Willow" by Jasmine Thompson.

* * *

She was driving slowly. Michael knew that, but he wasn't saying anything about it. She knew he'd noticed, though.

It was a bit chilly, here at the end of July, the sun setting in the west and disappearing behind gray clouds. There wasn't fog, but her low lights were on. She didn't think it would bother anyone, since there was no one outside their houses. It was just after dinner on a Thursday. The nightlife in her parents' neighborhood wouldn't be bothering the police tonight.

Michael hadn't asked to turn on the radio, which was strange — but not strange, given the circumstances and his intense focus on her hands on the wheel. He'd been watching them the whole drive over. They were shaking, so there wasn't much need to wonder why.

They'd been having a nice dinner until the clock hit 7:45. Holly had been prepared to ignore it and waste a little more time at the restaurant — order dessert, assume characters on the way out and try to convince a stranger they were foreign… She'd just wanted a little more fun, before it turned to this. She wasn't ready for this.

This was her father's street.

Her knuckles were white on the wheel, and she was more aware of it every time Michael rubbed his hands together anxiously, just looking at her. She swallowed, keeping her eyes low and her breaths steady. She wished he would look somewhere else. She didn't want him to see how terrified she was.

Holly was driving very slowly now, so that even the hum of the car engine was a low, dull noise. When it was very quiet, she could hear her own thoughts — which were mostly blank at the moment, with an occasional charge of something unsettling.

" _ **Get the hell**_ _out of my h-"_

She dug her nails into the wheel and bit down on her tongue, shutting out the sound. The harder she clenched, the more her hands shook, and the more her wrists ached. But at least she wasn't crying. At least she wasn't slamming the brakes.

Michael inhaled to say something, and instantly, Holly's shoulders tensed.

And maybe he noticed, because he didn't say it.

Her knees were twitching now, just out of her control, and hopefully not so much that Michael would notice. She could feel his worry, and she knew that if he was worried, he would give her an out — he would tell her they could try this another time, and she would take it, and she wouldn't come back.

"That's…"

Holly's eyes refocused on the road, only to realize that she was almost past their stop. She jolted on the brakes a little, giving the car a shake. Michael sat up straighter to look over at the house, before which they were completely stalled. She loosened her grip on the wheel for a moment.

This was her father's house.

" _Listen to me, for_ _ **five fucking seconds**_ _-_ "

Holly shut her eyes immediately to block it out, fingers pulling at the wheel, blood rushing into her ears as her eyes scrunched up tightly. It was like a bad dream that was haunting her. It sounded distorted and wrong and so unlike her mother…

" _Howard, put that down! Get away-"_

"Honey?"

" _ **Get away**_ _from your daughter right_ _ **no**_ _-"_

Michael's hand just touched her shoulder and Holly flinched, catching her breath as her eyes shot open. She looked at him, finally, and saw the spooked gaze and outstretched hand reaching for her. But she didn't take her hands off the wheel. If she did, she'd back out.

Michael didn't wait for that anyway. He silently reached over to set his hand on hers, with no direction whatsoever. He didn't tell her to keep driving. He didn't ask if she wanted to go home.

He just rubbed his thumb over her white knuckles and waited with here where she was.

It had been three weeks since she'd seen her dad like that — since she'd seen him at all, actually. She was ready to be over this, so that she could help her mother and spend time with her father, and after three weeks, to still be so afraid… It was a nightmare, except it wasn't, because it was reality and she couldn't change it…

This was her father's life now. He was going to slowly lose everything, and he was still going to have to live his life the best he could. And it was a nightmare, but it was the reality of the situation.

And she couldn't not stand behind her dad.

So Holly turned into the driveway.

The thick feeling in her chest didn't lighten as the car rolled to a gentle stop — especially not when she leaned forward to peek up into the window of the house, for fear of being watched by her mother. But she wasn't there waiting. She knew that Holly was coming, but she wasn't waiting for her.

There was the possibility that her mom was angry with her. Holly understood that.

"You ready?"

Holly blinked at the steering wheel vacantly, having forgotten that they'd come to a stop. Michael's hand had settled on her arm since then, the back of his fingers grazing over her as he waited for a response. Despite his comforting presence, it was a long minute before Holly could look him in the eye.

When she did, she was met with a slight but supportive smile. Holly bit her cheek and shook her head lightly. "I don't know," she whispered.

" _Do you_ _ **hear me**_ _?_ "

Her chin trembled — and Michael saw it. She knew she was beyond fooling him by now, but she didn't want him to see…

His expression didn't twist up with the usual concern, though, nor the white-as-a-sheet terror that cropped up whenever she cried, nor the conflict and burning anger that she'd seen only on the day he'd seen her father threaten her. He was calm. His touch on her arm was steady.

"It's gonna be okay," he assured her, and though he had no real proof of that, it felt good to hear. "I'm right here with you — I'm your bodyguard now, so nothing's gonna happen. Trust me."

She couldn't trust the statement that nothing was going to happen. She couldn't trust that her father wouldn't come unglued or that her mother wouldn't be furious with her for leaving, or that this whole thing wouldn't come to blows and leave them worse off than before.

But she could trust him.

Holly unbuckled her seatbelt and popped her door open, exiting the vehicle. Michael was quick after her, as though she were going to change her mind — and that was a very real concern for both of them. She didn't start up the driveway until he'd come around the car to meet her…

Michael offered her a bittersweet grin and took her hand. Holly allowed him to lead her through the reluctant steps of the cobblestone path.

Up the stairs, Holly half-expected her mother to meet them at the door. But she didn't, so Michael reached over her shoulder to ring the doorbell. It was hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, they'd been comfortable enough to walk right into this house.

"I think she's mad at me," Holly said, and jammed her hands into her pockets.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Annie? Nah. She's probably just happy you're willing to talk to her."

She huffed a breath, anxiously glancing through the window. "I would be mad at me."

"Well, your mom's nicer to you than you are."

Holly narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean? I'm… nice to myself."

"No, _I'm_ nice to myself," Michael replied absentmindedly, and leaned back to follow her gaze through the window. "You make yourself eat kale and blame yourself for literally _everything_ since the Garden of Eden. That's not nice."

"Kale is healthy and I like it," she mumbled, wrinkling her forehead at him. "And I don't blame myself for _everything_."

"Do, too."

"Do not."

"Yes, you do, _too_ ," he shot right back, and raised a finger. "And don't you say 'do not'. Do, too, times infinity."

"Do not times infinity _times_ infinity," Holly said, and raised her own finger. "That's infinity squared. I win."

The door opened so suddenly that they both jolted into military stance, as if to pretend they weren't just peering into her parents' window impatiently. Holly cleared her throat to greet her mother — but didn't, mainly because it wasn't her mother who answered the door.

Dad stood in front of them, wearing an expression of bewilderment, looking between the two as if their very presence were a mystery to him. Holly forgot how to breathe, angst washing over her and leaving her with physical chills. She started to greet him, but hesitated.

"Hey, Hollywood… What're you two doing out here?" Dad asked, eyebrows skyrocketing at the top of his forehead. Holly drew a shaky breath, fingers no doubt cutting off Michael's circulation.

Michael then took the initiative for her by clearing his throat. "Hi, Mr. Flax. Hope we didn't interrupt dinner… or, if Annie's cooking, I hope we _did_ ," he said with an awkward laugh. He subtly glanced over into the living room.

Holly couldn't take her eyes off her father, who was still silent and shaking his head a little.

"No, we just finished up," Dad explained, with a lopsided grin. He turned his attention to Holly. "You should've gotten here sooner. Your mom made lasagna."

Michael's finger-guns made an instant appearance as he looked between Holly and her dad. "Hey! We _just_ made lasagna."

Holly looked at him, and then back at Dad, and nodded slowly. "That's… funny. Uh, Dad, how are you- how are you feeling?" she asked, eyes narrowed. She was amazed at how normal he seemed compared to her last visit…

Dad shrugged. "I guess I'm doing all right… They're playing _Cool Hand Luke_ on TCM, so I can't be doing bad, right?"

She paused, mouth open, but breathed a little laugh. "I… guess not. Is Mom down here?"

"Ah, she's just changing. She won't be a minute," Dad ensured, as he pulled the door open for them. Holly walked in slowly, cautious around him still. "How was your day, then? You took off pretty early. Didn't get to give you a hug."

Holly started to ask him what he was talking about — but she didn't, and just put on a smile. At least she had a frame of reference for how much he remembered today. He was just about a month off…

And he was coming in for a hug, and Holly didn't have enough time to mentally stop herself from jerking away, even stumbling back a couple of feet. It was an instinct, and a horrible one. Her eyes widened at herself, and her head lifted to catch her father's confusion, as well as, just a bit to the right, Michael's panic. Her mind blanked.

"W- careful, honey!" Michael suddenly spurted out, and reached out to "catch" her behind her back. He shook his head at her, huffing a laugh. "I told you not to- not to have that drink at lunch. Whoo. Let's just-" He dusted off her shirt sleeve for some reason. She just let it happen.

Still, this didn't resolve the issue. Dad quickly forgot about this and nearly went in for another hug…

"I'll take one!"

Michael jumped right in to hug her father — something that did not typically happen for the two of them — with a big, nervous laugh that almost made the whole situation believable. Holly watched this in awe, beginning to sweat, and feeling so incredibly grateful for Michael's somewhat unorthodox improvisational tactics.

"Okay, then," Dad said over Michael's shoulder, giving his back a firm pat-pat. "If you wanna watch the movie with me, you can just ask."

Michael forced a strong laugh but did not pull back, prolonging the hug as long as possible — even longer than Holly imagined. She watched it go down like a tragic road accident that she couldn't drive past. Fortunately, her father was a good sport and didn't shake his future son-in-law off like the piece of cling-wrap he was being…

Holly didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know what Michael was doing for her. This was just insane.

"All right, you two," she said finally, every word forced to come out. Michael slowly inched back to look at her, and she nodded gratefully to him. "Do I get a turn?"

This genuinely shocked Michael, who tentatively released her father from his choke hold. Dad wasn't rude about it, but he definitely looked relieved to be out of the moment, straightening his shirt promptly. Then he looked at Holly, and this time, she didn't let her feet skitter back.

"Hey, Dad," she said — and raised her arms for a hug.

Dad quickly pulled her into his familiarly tight, warm embrace. Holly's arms came around him, stiffly at first, until her shoulders relaxed all on their own. Then everything came into place, and she stretched up to set her chin on his shoulder. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, giving him a squeeze.

She sighed, then, the anxious tension leaving her body as she inched back out of the hug to look at him. Dad smiled at her calmly, as if there were no reason not to be smiling. Holly smiled back.

"How was work today?" Dad asked, and stepped past them to shut the door. "Everybody behaving?"

Meanwhile, Holly looked with wide eyes at Michael, who appeared to be equally shocked at her father's lucidity. "It… was good," she said, shrugging her shoulders. Her father turned to look at her. "How have things here been?"

Dad shrugged his shoulders. "I couldn't complain. Your mother's been forcing me over to the _gym_ , but for my own safety, I _cannot_ complain-"

" _Oh, shut up!"_

Howard chuckled at Annie's remark from the hallway, turning to look at her. Holly inhaled sharply — and another wave of irrational fear hit her as she heard her mother's footsteps approaching the living room. She hadn't expected to see her mother yet-

But there she was, stepping into the doorway in her go-to comfy jeans and her laundry shirt — her curls less tamed than usual, falling out of what looked as though it used to be a bun. She was grinning until she laid eyes on Holly. Then she froze.

Holly swallowed, waiting for her mother to say something. She didn't know why _she_ couldn't say something first — but she didn't know what tone to strike. She didn't know if she should start by apologizing or if she should clean-slate it…

Mom didn't seem to know what to do either, so they just stood there like two speechless chumps with everything to say and no words to say it.

Finally, Mom caught her breath and blinked her up and down. "Hey, honey."

Holly bit the inside of her cheek, working her way around the lump in her throat to reply, "Hey, Mom."

Hearing that struck something in her mother, whose eyes lit up at the two-word sentence — the first few words they'd exchanged in person in what felt like weeks. Mom's eyes were a bit flighty, a bit nervous, as the awkward silence filled in again. She was visibly anxious to keep the conversation going…

"I…" she began, eyes flitting between Holly's face and her clothes, "feel… under-dressed."

"We just got back from dinner," Michael added from the side of this mother-daughter standoff. Holly nodded without looking at him.

"Oh," Mom said. She looked over at Dad for just a second to add, "We had las-"

Holly marched toward her mother — unexpectedly, to both of them — and threw her arms around her, pulling her into a sudden, tight hug. Mom jumped in surprise, but Holly didn't hesitate. She pressed her chin into her mother's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

The shock wore off, and Mom instantly wrapped her arms around Holly, her shoulders sinking and head resting against her daughter's. Holly inhaled sharply, the lump in her throat causing a sting in her eyes…

It was when Holly's breaths started to become shallow and sporadic that Mom finally broke the silence — one hand moving up and down Holly's back, she muttered, "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna figure this out. It's gonna be okay."

* * *

 _ **:) Thanks for reading and for your reviews!**_


	94. Those Who Can Easily Hide

**Chapter XCIV**

 **Those Who Can Easily Hide**

* * *

 _It's a little bit funny — this feeling inside…_

 _I'm not one of those who can easily hide._

 _I don't have much money, but boy, if I did,_

 _I'd buy a big house where we both could live._

\- "Your Song" by Elton John.

* * *

"Hey, Mr. Michael?"

That was the third time he'd heard this today, and it was only noon. He let out a long sigh and looked up from his computer, toward the stranger who occupied Ginny's usual seat — where _Ginny_ would sit quietly and study for exams until she was summoned, and, every once in a while, look up to share some random fact or remind him to stop playing Solitaire because he _hated_ it and to get back to work instead. In her place, sat the anti-Ginny.

"Yep?" Michael asked quietly, locking his eyes on the spreadsheet in front of him. This week was his most productive week at the DNR to date, because Lex's incessant chattering made his usual distractions and antics completely _unbearable._

"Do you have more staples?" she asked. This was just one of the steady flow of banal questions coming from that side of the room. "I used them all."

Michael furrowed his brow, now _having_ to look up to see what she was talking about. Lex looked back at him, stapler in hand, before turning to admire her little art project on the bookcase beside her chair. She'd stapled the corner of _his bookcase_ easily a hundred times. She hadn't even made a funny face or a message. This was a crime of hyperactivity.

"No, I don't," he said. Looking down at his desk, he added, "You could run out and get some. And some coffee, while you're out."

Lex shrugged, scooting upright. "I don't feel like driving."

"You could walk," Michael said, and then lowered his voice to mumble, "into traffic."

"What?"

" _Because there's traffic_ ," he amended. He shot her a quick, fake smile. "Walking might be faster. Stretch your legs, or whatever."

Lex didn't seem convinced, although she did start to grin. She shuffled back into her slouching position and grabbed her phone. "Thanks for your concern, Mr. Michael, but I think I'm okay. You've had me running around so much this week that I'm just _pooped_."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure that makes it hard to go home and get all your friends drunk."

" _Hey_ , come on," Lex protested, and turned in her seat to look him dead-on. "You can't still be mad about that!"

"What's there to be mad about?" Michael asked, sarcastically but calmly. "I mean, she spent _one night_ with you guys. And she had so much fun — got completely drunk, threw up all night, and cried about _The Rescuers_ until four in the morning. And then she didn't talk to me for a week, so all around, great night for _everybody_. Why would I be mad about that?"

Lex listened to all this but must have heard something different, as she now shook her head, smiling. "Okay, I see your point. But you're gonna like me eventually. Everyone does."

But Michael did _not_ like her. She kept texting Holly wedding ideas late at night while they were fooling around, and stealing Holly during lunch, and frankly, _frankly_ , she was an awful assistant. And he kept running out of office supplies for seemingly no reason!

"At least she's a fun drunk," Lex pointed out with a shrug. "I mean, when Ginny drinks, she gets all weepy and bipolar. And Heather gets all tired and grumpy, and you can't move her if you tried. That's why we take Ginny out with us. She's got the muscle."

"I thought Ginny didn't drink," Michael said. He glanced up at her. "At least that's what she told me."

Lex's eyes widened. "Oh, she doesn't. Usually."

He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? Is she- is something wrong?"

"I…" Lex began to say, but her voice drifted off. She bit her lip. "I shouldn't have brought that up. You're her boss, so… just pretend I didn't say that."

"I can't just pretend you didn't-"

"Oh, look at that," she cut him off, and lifted her phone for him to see. "It's lunchtime. I'm gonna go mooch off Heather's lunch."

"You're just gonna pretend you didn't say anything to me?" Michael asked incredulously, standing up as she tried to leave. "That's not fair! Just tell me. I promise, it won't affect her job."

Lex didn't seem sure, caught halfway between her chair and the door. She squinted at him uncertainly. "I don't…"

"If you told me," Michael pointed out then, "I might start to like you a little more. That's not a bad day for Lex."

"It could be," she said over her shoulder before heading to the door. She sent him a knowing look as she swung the door open. "Coming?"

He was surprised at how quickly she changed the subject, but huffed a breath. "Why not? It's not like I'm getting any work done anyway."

She smiled as she turned into the hallway. "That's the spirit!"

Michael narrowed his eyes, watching her vanish down the hall while he stood there, leaning on his desk. He looked back at his unfinished work with a sigh — not because he _wanted_ to do it. He wasn't _that_ guy, who liked to work and stressed out if he didn't get it done on time. He was more like Lex, really. He was supposed to be the fun boss!

He didn't know why he felt all weird and obsessive about work, but it needed to stop. So he grabbed his phone and marched out of his office, toward the lively noise of the break room at lunchtime.

"-and _tell_ him that this isn't too informal for a wedding," came Heather calling to Lex, while Michael entered the break room just behind her.

Lex stopped in the doorway, brow furrowed. "Excuse me? _Too_ informal? Really, D? Don't be a D."

Michael stepped past Lex to find, all seated at one table, Heather, Hughes, and Holly, gathered around one laptop. Heather was on her phone, shoving a picture of something in her new boyfriend's face. Hughes chuckled. "I'm not trying to be a D! I just think I wouldn't wanna carry one around during a whole reception."

Michael's eyebrows rose at that. He looked to Holly, as platonically as possible, and asked, "What are we talking about?"

Heather stopped making faces at Hughes long enough to notice Michael — and she instantly shot up. "We're helping Holly plan her wedding. Come sit with us."

Michael happily complied, except that when he reached the table, he nearly went to Holly's side by instinct — but in receiving a death look from Heather, quickly rerouted to sit next to Hughes. When he settled in, Hughes sent him a nod of greeting. Michael shrugged back.

Meanwhile, Lex was depositing multiple dollars into the vending machine, and looked over her shoulder at the laptop on the table. "Aw, that's cute! You should do it."

"Do what?" Michael asked, trying not to seem too interested.

Holly smiled at him, turning the laptop so he could see. "There's this ranch that my mom has connections with, right on the mountainside…"

He already knew this from _talking to her mother_ last night, and he'd already seen the pictures, but he pretended this was new information. "Looks nice."

"And see this gigantic door?" Heather pointed out. She then clicked to the next picture. "It opens up to this huge fieldy-mountainside, and so I suggested that you could open the doors and have the reception indoor-outdoor. And you could get a bunch of blankets and give them to people, and it would be all cute!"

"Until you lose a digit to frostbite," Hughes suggested, like a smart-aleck.

"But the stars would make it worth it!" Lex enthused. "Imagine the stars in the mountains. With all that clear air? Gah! Romantic!"

"See?" Heather said, back to Hughes. "Everyone agrees."

"What about you, Mike?" he asked suddenly, turning toward Michael. He gestured to the computer. "Wouldn't it be cold?"

Michael felt caught, unsure of how involved he ought to be. It was _his_ wedding, after all, but Hughes didn't know he and Holly were involved, and it had to stay that way. Still, he had to say something, or it would look as if he were trying to hide something. But he _was_ trying to hide something.

"I think- I think it could work," he stuttered finally, and shrugged. "You know, it could be like camping. You could do it up with the bonfire, you know, and the s'mores…"

"That would be so _fun_!" Lex near-shrieked, and threw her granola bars onto the table so she could jerk a chair out next to Holly. "And adorable — roasting marshmallows on your wedding day. It's so unique!"

"And inexpensive," Heather remarked, and looked to Holly. "What do you think?"

Michael glanced over at her, too, eagerly awaiting her opinion of his idea. He knew she wouldn't like sticky s'more mess while in her wedding dress, but…

"I love it," Holly admitted, smiling bashfully. This sent Lex into silent head-banging. "It kinda goes with the theme I was thinking about, too…"

"Theme?" Michael asked, before he'd felt the words coming out of his mouth. When they all looked at him, he bit his tongue, hard. "I… didn't hear the theme. You have a theme already?"

Holly's lips parted, as if he'd caught her in a secret — and she bit her lip. She looked down at the notebook laid out before her. "I just… had some ideas. It all depends on what my fiance likes."

"Well, do share," Heather said, and grabbed the notebook from her. Meanwhile, Lex leaned all the way over Holly and half of Heather, to steal some of Heather's fries. Heather craned her neck over Lex's strewn body to read the notes.

"It's just a personal thing," Holly continued, while Michael pretended not to be hanging onto her every word — because he hadn't known she had a theme yet. "Mi- my fiance, proposed to me with a bunch of candles, so I thought-"

"As what? Decorations?" Heather asked. She didn't sound impressed.

"You could make cute party favors," Lex said, mouth full of fries. "Everyone loves candles."

"As decorations, yes," Holly agreed, nodding. "But also, you know, once we move things outside, we could have everyone take a candle — since it would be dark if it were at night…"

"So people are carrying around blankets, candles, and s'mores?" Hughes said — and Heather hit him. He winced. "Not that that's a problem."

"They could set the candles down," Lex reminded him.

"And start a wildfire."

"Oh, for fuck's _sake_ , D…"

"The candles could go on a table," Holly put in, seeming nervous. She looked at Michael for confirmation, and Michael sent her a small, totally platonic smile. He loved the idea. He was the fiance who proposed with candles — so it was basically both of their ideas.

Heather, who had been strangely silent since she received the notebook, now set the book down and looked up. "I mean… it's cute. It's a little plain, you know — if you're asking me. Cheap is good, but it's your _wedding_. You should splurge a little."

Michael's eyebrows shot up, as did Lex's across the table — and a moment of intensely-awkward silence filled the break room area as Heather stared at the paper in front of her, while the rest of them looked around at each other. Holly only looked at Michael for an instant before turning down toward the table.

"Jesus, Heather," Lex said abruptly, eyes wide as she turned to Holly. "If candles are special to you, then they don't have to be expensive. Don't listen to her."

"I didn't mean to be rude!" Heather jumped in with a shrug. "I just- I'm _that_ person, you know. I love weddings. I expect them to look like they do in the magazines, I guess, and that- I mean, we all work _here_ , so we all have _that salary_ — I don't know what they pay you in H.R., but- well damn, I'm sorry. I guess that was rude."

"Yeah, it was- that's rude," Michael muttered. He couldn't help himself. Heather could be a real jerk sometimes.

He tried not to think about the cost of the wedding, anyway, because that wasn't the point. If he did, he'd probably have a panic attack — because he'd blown all his savings on Jan years ago, and he'd only saved up so much by now that even combined with Holly's savings, it wasn't enough to cover the whole wedding _and_ a secure future for their kids. And that was okay, because her parents — and hopefully his, although he might have blown that — were supposed to be covering the general cost of the wedding. But they also had to pay to fly in everyone from Scranton, and that was _not_ cheap…

And he _did_ , think about it, sometimes… because it was Holly. It was their wedding, and he wanted to give her _everything_. But he'd already given another woman everything, and now he couldn't do that anymore. He didn't have enough to give.

So he basically wanted to bury himself in the sand right now. And Holly was looking at him, and that made it all worse.

"Well, my parents are paying for it," Holly explained, to begin. She folded her hands on the table thoughtfully before looking up. "So I don't really want to put them out, for one thing."

"Of course not. Forget I said anything."

"And to us," she continued — and when he looked up, there was a smile on her face. "This is already really special, and we've only planned a little bit, so… I just think we both want our savings to go toward what comes _after_ the wedding, you know? The kids, and the house, and the swingset and the… _puppy_ , and stuff like that. I think that's… I think we're both more excited about that. You know?"

And she spared a smile in his direction before redirecting it somewhere else, for image's sake. Michael smiled at her unabashedly anyway.

"That is _so_ perfect," Lex gushed, covering her mouth in adoration. "Can you marry me?"

Holly chuckled, and her face was completely adorable. Michael had to keep himself from walking over and hugging her.

"You guys are so lucky," Heather near-complained, looking between them. "I want a wedding. I want… the puppy."

"Them guys?" Hughes echoed back — having been so quiet that apparently, Heather forgot that she needed to _not_ say things like that. "Are they both getting married?"

Sirens went off in Michael's head. His mind raced for something to say, even though that almost never worked…

"Y-yes," Michael stuttered. He looked over at Holly and Lex and then Heather to receive panicked looks before adding, "To different people — I assure you. I'm- May. We're getting married in May, 2012. Just… if the world doesn't end."

Hughes seemed lost, but nodded. "Congrats, man. Maybe, uh, maybe you get some ideas from all this planning too, then, huh?"

Michael's eyes widened. " _No_ …ope. Because we've already planned it. Getting married, it's gonna- we're doing it in a hot air balloon. Wearing suspenders! Both of us. Kidding! Just me. Not her. She's wearing a dress, as per usual. She's… brunette."

All the while, he was laughing nervously. Even after, he continued to laugh, mostly out of pain.

"That's… great," Hughes said with a lopsided grin. "What's her name?"

"You're a nosy rosy, aren't you, D?" Michael shot back, and burst into a big, awkward laugh. He didn't stop laughing until someone helped him.

"So candles," Heather interrupted, clasping her hands together. This caused Hughes to look over at her, and the room became ten degrees cooler. "Let's… what do we need to know about those?"

"Where do you get them?" Lex asked instantly.

"Yes!" Heather shot back. "Who is your candle _supplier_? Very good question."

"Yes, very good," Michael added — but now it seemed that whenever he spoke, he would receive a collective look of panic from the women in the room. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair.

Michael then resolved to be a _listening_ partner for the rest of the meal.

* * *

 _ **Almost the fourth of July :)**_


	95. Mountain High or Valley Low

**Chapter XCV**

 **Mountain High or Valley Low**

* * *

 _Mountain high or valley low,_

 _I sing out — remind my soul_

 _That I am yours…_

 _I am forever yours…_

\- "Love Came Down" by Brian Johnson.

* * *

"…and you couldn't see on the website, but they have _gorgeous_ bathrooms — and there's a closet full of tissue boxes, which is important for… some of us."

"Aw, Annie," Michael interrupted her spiel with a smile. "I didn't know you were a weeper."

Mom glared. "I'm not a _weeper._ "

"Really? 'Cause you seem like it."

"Well, you seem like a sobber," she said smartly. "I'd bet you get choked before you get down the aisle."

"Will not."

"I bet you will."

"Well, you… will be wasting your money," Michael mumbled, looking out toward the mountain they were passing through. "I don't cry."

Holly's eyebrows shot up, and she squeezed his cold hands abruptly. "You do, too!"

Michael then looked over and muttered, "No, I don't."

"You cried when we got back together," she reminded him, as they went over a bump — and they all jolted, teeth clacking. Holly quickly settled back in against Michael's shoulder, and grinned playfully. "And when you proposed. And whenever those animal shelter commercials come on."

"Don't- those were all _very_ emotional times for me, and you know it."

"The commercials?" Mom added as she glanced between the two. "Are you especially raw when you watch local TV?"

"Sometimes!" he shot back. "You aren't even there, so you don't- I- _you_ don't have a soul, so I don't expect you to understand. Whatever."

They hit another bump along this steep uphill path, which was gravel more than anything else. The golf-cart-esque vehicle moved just slowly enough to make every pebble jolting, but quickly enough to create a chilly wind. Even at the beginning of August, things were cooling down on the side of the mountain. Holly couldn't imagine what it would be like in November.

But she wasn't thinking about things like that. Today, she would only be thinking positive.

"But anyway, the hall is really wide — open, roomy, good for a bunch of tables." Annie nearly bounced off her seat across from them, and set a hand onto the fabric beside her. "How many are you having? Do you have a rough idea yet?"

While she spoke, Holly stared at Michael's hands, his fingers tangled in hers and rubbing the cold away. She considered her mother's question before looking up at Michael, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I… don't think we talked about it. Not too many, I think."

"Well, everyone from the office," Michael added, and peeked down at her. "Right?"

Holly blinked at him. "Everyone?"

"Obviously," he said with a shrug. "That's… we have to. They're the reason we're together."

"Okay," she said, smiling. "You're absolutely right. I was just asking — you know, so just Jim and Dwight and them, or like Meredith and Creed…?"

And this seemed to give him more pause. He looked up at Mom, who had no idea what they were discussing and shook her head. He lowered his voice and mumbled, "Well, we don't…"

"Do you want to?"

"It's- you know what? It's a lot of money," Michael decided. "To fly everyone up here — that's a lotta dough. We don't have to."

"But do you _want_ to?" she asked again. She sat up a bit to look at him seriously. "Do you want them there?"

"Maybe. Yes."

"Then they're coming," Holly said, grinning. She glanced up at her mom and raised her eyebrows. "So I guess… with everyone from Scranton, plus family, and a couple of my friends from Nashua… and their plus-ones? We might invite forty or fifty. I don't know if they'd all show up, but I think that's the ballpark."

"Way less than a ballpark," Michael remarked instantly. He cleared his throat. "Is that really all we have? Just fifty?"

"Fifty's not bad," Mom said.

"Yeah," he agreed, looking up the hill at the building they approached. "It's not great, either. It's not huge."

"I like that, though," Holly said, and snuggled up closer to him. "I think it's low-pressure, and less money. Plus we really only have to have the people we like, which means no boring conversations. It's like a party."

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "I do like that. Like a big party."

She knew he would.

"How much family are you counting, Hol?" Mom asked, leaning back in her seat. Her head was dangerously close to the head of their driver, but she didn't seem to notice or care. "I mean, you've got me and your father, and your grandmother, and- you're inviting your sister, right?"

Now, that had the potential to kill Holly's happy mood today — instantly, in one big, ugly fell swoop. But Holly didn't let it. She focused on Michael's hands in hers and his shoes tapping against hers absentmindedly. She focused on the fact that they were going to their possible _wedding hall_ , where they were going to laugh and dance and _get married_. That brought her back.

"I don't think she'd come if I did," she admitted quietly. As the golf-cart-thing slowed down, Holly peeked past Michael to find that they were atop the hill, in the middle of a gigantic, grassy clearing. "Wow…"

"And your cousins," Mom said, noticing her daughter's off-left stare. "You have to invite your cousins, Hol. Kirsten invited you to hers."

"Wow," Michael said, looking over the area with her.

"You were the _flower girl_ at Lauren's first wedding. That would be such a slap in the face."

Holly wasn't even listening.

The reception hall was huge, with spacious field around it, now covered in grass and dandelions but soon to be white with snow. The building had a cabin feel, elegant but simple — and what appeared to be the remnants of a bonfire around the corner. Everything beyond this little area was curtained by thick green trees.

"I forgot how gorgeous this place is," Mom said, interrupting the long silence they'd been holding. Then she pointed out at the side of the building. "That part right there — that's just one big giant door. It slides out and gives you a beautiful view of the mountains. That's where some people go out to ride off at the end of the night."

"They've got a fire," Michael whispered, and glanced at Holly. "We could have tables right there for all the s'mores stuff…"

"S'mores?"

"And if- we could get enough chairs out there, don't you think?"

"Out _where?_ " Mom cut in, straightening up. "Outside? You're having the reception outside. In the snow. Of course."

Holly inhaled sharply, because she hadn't wanted to talk about this yet.

"We're thinking about doing an indoor-outdoor reception, you know — just because we've got this gorgeous scenery, and the _snow_ …"

"So we're doing a bonfire!" Michael burst out, and laughed excitedly. "It's gonna be great! We're gonna have blankets and everyone's gonna get all bundled up like homeless people, and we can make toasts or tell stories around the fire-"

"This isn't a camping trip," Mom argued, brow furrowed. As the vehicle came to a stop, she turned to look at the building and added, "And you're not homeless pe- this… I called in a pretty big favor because I was under the impression you wanted an elegant, _heated_ mountain wedding. If you wanted a campfire wedding, we could've gone to a campsite for much cheaper."

"We _do_ want it to be nice," Holly assured her, and untangled her legs from Michael's so they could stand. "And we really appreciate what you're doing-"

"I just don't want you to feel like just because we're paying, that means you can't have the wedding you want. Your father and I have plenty of money to invest in this. We _want_ to-"

"I know, Mom," Holly said gently, with a small smile. She nodded reassuringly at her mother, who was already showing her nerves, possibly her guilt, before they'd even left the vehicle. Holly bit her lip. "We're doing exactly what we want. You don't have to worry."

Mom opened her mouth to argue, looking between Holly and Michael… but said nothing. Her shoulders untensed, and she smiled back. "Okay, fine," she said with a shrug, and stood up. "Just… let me show you the inside, and you might change your mind."

Even that couldn't harshen Holly's good mood, as Michael helped her up and off the cart with a gentlemanly grin. She hopped down onto the uneven ground, losing her balance for a second until Michael steadied her — and he chuckled, his hand lingering on her lower back. She blushed…

Despite her mother's presence, this was Holly's and Michael's day — and Michael happened to look _quite_ sexy in his Good Jeans, chewing gum to try to pop his ears in the increased climate. It had taken everything in her to let him out of the shower this morning.

So Holly set a hand under his chin and kissed him, for as long as she could until-

"C'mon, lovebirds! We've only got an hour!"

Holly sighed against his lips, catching one more kiss before parting. Michael made a sour little face at that, but took her hand nonetheless and wiggled his fingers between hers. They walked in-step around the cart to meet her mother, who was already _several_ yards ahead of them.

The building looked even larger up close, a pretty brown against the dark-green trees and light-green fields, with a few stairs leading up to the porch. Lanterns hung along the walls, on either side of the windows which peeked into the reception hall. The place appeared to be set up for a wedding already, tablecloths on the tables and flowers set out — and that was just from what she could see through the glass. When Holly and Michael caught up to her mother, though, they were given the full account of the place.

"So there's space for up to eighty seats inside," Mom explained. "There's a fireplace inside, so you know, if you wanted to have a fire but keep everyone from freezing, there's that option."

"Great," Holly said quickly, and looked to Michael. "It looks like good lighting out here."

"Oh, yeah. We should've come at night," she said, gesturing around to the field. "During the summer, there's fireflies _everywhere_ up here. That with the lanterns gives just enough that you're not in the dark — but not so much that you can't see the stars! I know that's a big selling point for you."

"You should've been in sales," Michael remarked, eyebrows raised. He nodded at her mother. "Or real estate, or something like that. I think you would've been good at it."

Mom put on a smile. "Thanks, but I'd rather shove an entire Christmas tree up my ass."

Holly's eyes widened. She turned halfway toward Michael, an expression of shock on her face, and swallowed. "Okay, Mom."

"What?" she shot back, as they reached the stairs. "I just hate it! I _hated_ working in retail when I was younger. I was constantly reprimanded for 'scaring customers off.'"

"Well, yeah," Michael said easily. He stood back to allow Holly up the stairs, his hand on her back, before following. "You'd have to work on your personality a bit. You're way too abrasive."

"Well, bite me."

"Although not so much lately," he added, squinting at her sarcastically.

Mom smirked, and pulled the door open for them. "It's not my fault that the average consumer is a little wiener. Now…"

Holly's jaw dropped at the sound of the word "wiener" coming out of her mother's mouth — and she turned away quickly to hide her wide grin from Mom. Michael smiled at her, keeping his snickering to a minimum as he followed them into the building.

"…this should stay warm in the winter, and hopefully bug-free if we're strict with the screened doors," Mom said. Holly and Michael looked up at her, and then, the room.

It was definitely a nice space, roomy and inviting, even with the stiff decorations currently occupying the tables and walls. The chandeliers on the ceiling were the first thing that caught Holly's eye, and the cobblestone walls — all nice, all classic lodge. The wood floor provided a clear resonance with every step, especially those of her mother's high heels. There were many windows allowing in a natural light, and at the end, a large, homey fireplace. The whole feeling, from this room and the wedding hall they'd seen up the mountain, was reminiscent of childhood vacations with her aunt…

"This makes me think of Beauty and the Beast," Michael breathed, in sheer awe.

Childhood memories, and a Disney movie, seemed like good signs.

"Now, obviously, this isn't remotely close to how your wedding is going to look," Mom said, a hint of distaste in her voice. She walked ahead of them, along the left wall, and continued, "Once we get it decorated and move some of these tables around, it'll look completely different. But when I saw this in my book, I thought it had all the things you were looking for — good acoustics for a band, over in the corner there. For Scrantonicious or whatever."

Michael was so visibly stunned that he didn't even correct her on the name of Kevin's band. He just wandered a few steps into the room, head tilted back, looking around with wide eyes. He opened his mouth as if to comment on something, but he didn't. He gave no opinion at all.

"Scrantonicity," Holly said, and eyed Michael cautiously. "And there's… a kitchen, right? In the back? Because getting food up the hill-"

"Would be hell — no way. There's a kitchen," Mom assured her, and tugged on what appeared to be the "giant-ass door" she'd been telling them about. "I feel like I remember it, but I've done so… many of these damn mountain weddings. This opens, I swear. Just let me-"

"I could try-"

"Good," she said, hands flying off the handle. She turned back to Michael and added, "I'm gonna go check out the bathroom-kitchen-garbage situation. If I'm bringing friends in on this, it's gotta be a good setup…"

"I thought you remembered this place," Michael reminded her. He looked over the lock on the door while Mom headed off to the hallway. "You said you catered here a billion times."

"Oh, yeah, and I was drunk every time," Mom announced into the hall. "I hated doing weddings. If everyone else was gonna be drunk, you bet your ass I was, too."

"Maybe you just hate people, Annie."

"Maybe I do."

That was when her voice faded from intelligibility, and Michael turned his attention to the door. Holly, meanwhile, leaned against a table and looked around. The high ceilings and nice dark wood beams, leading down to the well-lit walls and ornate molding… everything gave her a good feeling. She could imagine the room at night, the windows viewing the stars and the snow, the fireplace roaring, the chandeliers and the candles setting off a lovely, warm glow…

But she wanted to hear what Michael was thinking first. He hadn't wanted a mountain wedding in the first place — and definitely not a winter wedding, so she had to make sure he loved the place before pushing to rent.

"This is really- _jammed_ ," Michael muttered, and tugged again at the door with his whole body into it. Holly stood up to help him, but he waved his hand back at her the moment he heard it. "I got it, I got it. It's just… _hnnnnnh_. Come on! What a little motherf-"

The door finally jolted open, and Michael stumbled back a few feet before catching himself on a chair. He huffed a breath in victory and shook off the fall, as if it had never happened. He went back to pull the door the rest of the way open…

And Mom hadn't been lying. The view made by the open door, peering over the hills and trees and fields, was definitely stunning. Holly stepped closer to look out, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

" _Wow_ ," Michael said with a shallow breath. He turned back to face her, throwing a thumb back at the view…

Their eyes locked for a long minute, standing across from each other in the middle of this wedding hall, backlit by the sun bouncing off the grassy hills outside. Nothing was said, but Holly had a feeling she knew what he was thinking.

Holly laughed a little bit, shaking her head at him. He smiled, silent as he meandered back over to her. When he reached her side, he looked over his shoulder at the mountainside, and shook his head, too.

"I don't know how to say no to that," Holly admitted, breaking the silence. "Do you?"

Michael didn't know what to say, but reached his arm around her waist and pulled her in. Holly hugged him, and he kissed her head. They stood silently, just staring at the scenery…

" _Everything the light touches_ …" Michael quoted, resting his cheek on her head, " _is our kingdom…_ "

" _Mu-fasaaa…_ " Holly whispered.

"No, _you_ mufasaaa…"

"No, _you_ mufasaaa."

"Hakunaaa…"

"Mata-"

" _Seems like good plumbing!"_ Mom interrupted loudly from the hallway, marching into the room proudly. "And I have very good news. You'll appreciate this."

Holly raised an eyebrow at her mother. "What?"

Mom pressed her lips tightly together, as if she were holding a huge secret — and then burst out, "They've got gas stoves!"

And Michael and Holly looked at each other, while her mother clasped her hands together in pure glee. Holly grinned at him.

"Well, that was a deal-breaker," Holly said humorously, and bit her lip. "As long as… you know, we've got the _gas stove_ , then I think we're… in."

Mom thought she was joking at first, because she _was_ , halfway — but when Michael nodded his agreement, Mom's eyes lit up. "Really? You're sure?"

Holly nearly answered for them, but checked with Michael first, who was already beaming.

He nodded.

* * *

 _ **Happy treason day.**_


	96. Oh Dear, You Look So Lost

**Chapter XCVI**

 **Oh Dear, You Look So Lost**

* * *

 _Oh dear, you look so lost…_

 _Eyes are red, and tears are shed —_

 _This world you must have crossed._

\- "Boston" by Augustana.

* * *

" _Buuuuh-_ _ **nuh**_ _, nuh-nuuuuuh…"_

" _Shhh!"_

" _Buuuh-_ _ **nuh!**_ " he sang abruptly, throwing his arm out — and he swung it around to catch her in his embrace. "Ah- _buh-nuuuuuuuuuuuuh!"_

" _You have to shush!"_ Holly whispered behind giggles as he leaned her into the car door. Michael didn't shush, but wiggled his arms around her waist and took a deep breath before reeling her away from the vehicle.

" _Hhhhhere_ comes the bride!" Michael exclaimed, the words echoing throughout the parking lot. Holly's feet stumbled over his as he swayed her _far_ to the right, nearly falling over himself before coming to a stop. " _Aaaaaallllll-"_

"You're gonna wake people _up_ ," she protested, tugging against his tight embrace. She got away, but only halfway, before he linked his arm through hers and kicked one leg out to march forward.

" _Aaaaall dressed and wiiiide!_ " he sang with a cheeky grin. Holly laughed and elbowed him, which sent him further to one side and, because she was pinned to his side, brought her right along with him. " _Heeeeee-"_

"What kind of dancing is this?" Holly asked, as he jerked her to one side and then the other, all while she slung her other arm around his side to hug him — although it seemed like an effort to put her weight on him.

"It's our _wedding_ dance," Michael said. Hands sliding down to catch hers, he swung her arms out along their sides. " _This_ is how we're gonna do our first dance. Take it or leave it."

"We're g- we're taking lessons," she protested, slurring slightly.

"I'm _kidding_. We're already doing the cha-cha slide. We can't have _two_ first dances. We only get _one_."

"And it sure as heck won't be the cha-cha-cha," Holly said. She was growing a bit loud herself, as they swayed toward the apartment building, steps growing less and less effective. "We're gonna have to slow dance. Take _that_ or leave it."

" _You_ … will change your mind," Michael promised in a sing-song tone. To back up his point, he nestled his chin on her shoulder and whispered, "This is pretty romantic, too, ay?"

"It's weird," she said — but this didn't keep her from giggling as he kissed her cheek. Then he moved down into her neck, and she curled up against his lips, laughing at the ticklish touch…

Then, as he pressed little featherlight kisses onto her neck, he began to hum, " _Hmmm-_ _ **nmm**_ _, nmm-nmmmm…"_

Holly chuckled and tugged his arms forward, for they had stopped moving. "Are you gonna sing that every day now?"

"Mm, until the wedding, _yesh_."

" _Lord_ …"

But Michael was too tipsy to care if he was annoying her, and too giddy to stop singing it. After his third drink, it was all he could think about — the same words repeating in his head…

" _Here comes the bride…"_

"I'm not even a bride yet," she argued.

Michael furrowed his brow, and smooched her cheek. "Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not. Not until I get my dress, and my veil," Holly said, squeezing his hands. "And I have to… do my hair, and stuff. I have to look pretty."

"You already look pretty!"

"I look _pretty_ pretty," she said, lips pursed. "I have to look _really super_ pretty to be a bride. That's the rules."

" _The rules_ ," Michael teased, and stuck his tongue out — and he licked her earlobe playfully, and Holly shrunk away with a big grin and a blush. "Damn the rules. You look pretty super pretty already."

Holly made a little noise, as if he'd said something adorable, and turned her head to give him a peck. "Thank you, baby."

She only ever called him "baby" when she'd had a couple drinks, and it got Michael hot every damn time.

"I still have to go dress shopping," Holly added. They reached the foot of the stairs, where Holly insistently separated from him. Michael linked his arm in hers nonetheless, taking the handrail on the other side. "I've gotta get the girls together and _hopefully_ find something that'll come soon enough…"

Michael cracked up a little. Holly stopped climbing to look over at him, pointedly.

"What?"

" _The girls_ ," Michael echoed, a playful smile on his face. "You have _girls_. You're the most popular girl in school."

Holly made a "pfft" noise and resumed her way up that first set of stairs. "It's just Heather and Lex, and Ginny. And my _mom_ , but she's obligated to go."

"It's like dating a cheerleader."

"Ha," Holly started, and stuck her tongue out at him. But Michael's eyebrows shot up in intrigue, and he leaned in to kiss her right on the mouth. She jumped a bit in a late reaction before returning the kiss warmly…

Michael started to feel a little dizzy, since they stood half on one stair and half on the next. Holly broke off the kiss just in time to pull him back up from his slow leaning off-balance.

"You need to find your 'the boys'," Holly decided, out of nowhere. "For all the beer-watching and sports-drinking, you know. You need _guys_ , like you had back in Scranton."

"Well, I'd just rather hang out with the _girls_ ," Michael said as he leaned in, but not for her lips — diving down under her chin, because Holly had decided to wear one of her special-occasion shirts that showed actual cleavage…

Holly nearly let him get there, too, but shoved him off at the last second with wild giggles. "You're the _worst_ ," she protested, and kissed him again. Then she tugged him up the stairs again. "C'mon. Let's take this inside."

"Oh, I see…" Michael hummed his agreement and followed her upward. He kept one cautious hand on her back as she climbed, though he felt more like he would fall before she did. He blinked widely. "I'm so _drunk_."

Holly looked back at him, eyebrows wrinkled. "We only had a couple of drinks… right?"

"Did we…?" he wondered with a smile, chuckling. "I don't… I don't remember having many."

"I don't feel like we did…" She stopped mid-step, brow furrowed in deep thought — and when she looked up at him again, she laughed. "I don't know. I just feel _good_."

"Well, we're celebrating, we're celebrating," Michael assured her, and nudged her forward. "It's the wedding-planning-high. Plus my ears are… still haven't popped back from the mountain…"

This made her sigh, but contentedly. "It feels good to have it out of the way. Now we just… have to get the wedding party, and the catering… and the _flowers_ -"

"Shh-shh-shh," he said, cutting her off. Turning around to the next set of stairs, he kissed her cheek and whispered, "Just let it be done for today. We did good. Your mom did good. We're good."

She considered this for a moment, kissing his cheek in return. "We're good."

"Yessss," Michael encouraged her. "So let's just relax and _not plan_. I'm too tired to do anything else tonight."

Holly pursed her lips at that, chin lowered and eyes looking up at him playfully. She did a half-turn and caught him in a kiss, one hand still tangled in his, swinging and twisting his hand back and forth easily, while the other hand inched up to the collar of his shirt, fingers sneakily undoing the top button as she brushed his lips slowly, softly. This extracted a hot breath from Michael; his shoulders sank, and his mind quieted…

One brief moment passed before Holly pulled away, and asked quietly, "Too tired for… _anything_ else?"

And perhaps he had not fully considered what he was saying.

"You're a sly fox, Holly Flox," Michael said — and hearing himself, chuckled. "I mean Holly _Flax_."

"You mean Holly _Scott_."

"Oh-ho," he sang, and took her hands, pulling her off the last step. "Duuuh- _nuuh_ , duh nuuuh…"

"Oh, here we go. Encore."

"Dadada-duuuuh- _nuh-_ " Michael continued, pausing for effect as he turned around the corner toward their door. Then he stopped singing altogether, no longer for effect. His eyes widened.

Noticing that he had stopped pulling, Holly stepped up to his side and looked past him at the door. He didn't look back at her, studying the scene in front of them.

"There's a person at the door," Michael acknowledged, quite obviously. "Or…"

Or, to be more precise, there was a female person lying on their doormat, in a position that lent to the image of being dead. She was blonde, and lay on her side like a hobo hiding from the rain under a park bench. Her left leg — or _her_ right leg, but it was on Michael's left — or possibly it was her left leg — she was buried under a heavy coat, so that he could barely tell where her head was — either way, the leg was laid out in an odd way. It was as though the woman had passed out.

"Oh, my gosh…" Holly breathed, mouth covered. "Should we call an ambulance?"

"Who the hell is that?" Michael asked with a little less concern and a little more bewilderment. This felt like a movie scene. Some dying stranger was lying at their front door. Maybe she was his long-lost daughter, somehow, and she needed money because she was strung out on cocaine and meth…

Holly instantly made a dash toward the person, and Michael _instantly_ grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. Her head shot back. "What?"

" _Don't_ go over there!" he snapped.

"Michael, they could be hurt!" she said-

"They could be drunk, or _crazy_!" Michael insisted, and again pulled her back in a protective-lover-mode that he had never before engaged. "They could have a weapon or a deadly disease, or… They could be a hooker."

"So?" Holly questioned.

"So someone could have killed them and left them here to pin it on us!" he said, now speaking in whispers in case anyone would hear them. This theory made him sound drunker than he was. "If you touch that dead hooker, we are _both_ going to prison, and Dwight says my features are too marsupial to survive in prison!"

"We're not going to prison, Michael," Holly whispered, although she stood still at his side now. "Besides, we don't even know that they're dead. They could just be… sleeping."

"Right. Because the concrete in front of _our door_ is so comfortable! Wait, is this our door?"

"Yes," she said, eyes wide. "What do you- if it weren't, what? Would you just leave them there?"

Michael's mouth opened, but all that came out was a weak hissing breath. He shook his head.

Holly just looked back at the person while biting her lip anxiously, seeming uncertain of what to do next. She glanced down at her arm, where Michael still held onto her firmly, if a bit shakily. He waited for her to decide what the next course of action was.

There was a long silence as they deliberated over this. Finally, Holly's head lifted.

" _Hello_?"

Michael jolted at the noise, and he tugged at Holly's arm. "Are you _insane_? Don't talk to them!"

But the hooker stirred from her resting place, after this one brief address, head turning halfway toward them. Again, Holly called, " _Excuse me_?"

Again, Michael, tipsy and anxious, pulled on her arm desperately. "Let's go, let's go, let's leave. They'll have to leave eventually! We can stay with your par-"

" _Michael?"_ called the hooker, and Michael couldn't be sure, but he may have peed just a little bit. Holly's hand squeezed his; she looked to him in expectation of a response.

"Hello?" Michael offered nervously.

" _Is…"_

The hooker sat up, then, and her blonde hair fell out of her face to reveal features that were quite familiar to him by now. She looked like a mess, mascara everywhere and waves tangled and huge t-shirt slipping off her shoulder and hanging far over her pajama pants…

And the harsh, uneven blush that had given him the strong hooker-impression now, in the fluorescent light, revealed itself to be a big, reddish-purple, swollen cheekbone.

"Ginny?" Michael near-gasped, and marched toward the girl with his hand still clinging to Holly's arm, dragging her with him. "What in the _hell_? What happened to you?"

"Are you all right?" Holly asked, voice shaky. "Are you- are you hurt? Do I need to call the police?"

Ginny didn't stand up to greet them, just seated there at their door with her untied converse sticking out between them. She threw her hands up. "We ran out of milk."

"What do you-" he started — and he reached down to give her his hand, but she didn't take it. She just wiped her face sleepily. "We… have milk. What does this even have to- what about milk? What _happened_?"

"We ran out," Ginny said, and looked up with a big, teary smile, "of _fucking milk_. That's what _happened_ to me!"

And then she broke down into a sob, her head falling into her hands, her converse kicking out drunkenly — all in all, mirroring the appearance of a child upset after school, while reeking of alcohol.

Perhaps Michael really _was_ too tired for anything else.

* * *

 ** _I'm actually starting to feel sad now that this is so close to being over! :) Thanks for still reading/reviewing after all this time._**


	97. Settle Down These Shivered Bones

**Chapter XCVII**

 **Settle Down These Shivered Bones**

* * *

 _And I can't fall asleep without a little help._

 _It takes a world to settle down these shivered bones —_

 _Wait 'til the panic's out…_

 _It's a terrible love and I'm walking with spiders…_

 _It's a terrible love, and I'm walking in._

\- "Terrible Love" by Birdy.

* * *

What an _awful_ night to get buzzed. It was like Holly needed more proof that she should never, ever drink.

Michael finally got the door unlocked after several minutes of rummaging through her purse for the keys, muttering all the way about whatever object he found instead of the keys, whether it be makeup or her checkbook or hand sanitizer, and claiming that _none_ of these things were necessary to carry around. Holly had half a mind to remind him of all the things he needed from her purse on a daily basis, but she was too distracted to argue. She was seated on the concrete in front of Ginny, who had no opinion on the matter — as she cried in one continuous streak, only pausing once to curse when Holly applied pressure to her swollen cheekbone.

" _Ow_!" Ginny shrieked, a bit loudly for the time of night. Holly didn't reprimand her. She had the shrinking feeling this wasn't the first time Ginny had disturbed their neighbors.

"Sorry," Holly said, biting down on her lip. When she next looked, the door was open and Michael had cleared the way for them to enter. She set her eyes on Ginny again. "Let's get you inside. Give me your hands."

"I don't _want_ to get up," she sobbed and brought her hands up to cover her face. Her voice was muffled when she added, "I'm… I'm tired, and dizzy, and my _head_ … fff, _no_ , just let me die here. I'cn just die here."

"I'm gonna take you in to the couch," Holly whispered. "We're gonna get you some water and some Tylenol, and you're gonna feel better, okay? Just give me your hands."

Inside, Michael was already searching the cabinets, probably for Tylenol. Holly hoped they had Tylenol. She'd just assumed they had Tylenol.

"Ginny," she repeated insistently, and gave her knee a shake until Ginny uncovered her face. Holly put on a small, comforting smile. "It's going to be okay. Let's stand up."

"I'm too dissy."

"I won't let you fall, I promise," Holly said. She crossed her heart with her pinky before offering the same hand to the younger girl. Her hand lingered there patiently. Ginny stared into her eyes wordlessly.

Finally, she surrendered her hands. Holly started up, guiding her slowly to her feet and holding her there until she seemed sufficiently balanced. Then she hurriedly turned her toward the door and helped her inside, before Ginny could give up or topple over.

"Okay," Holly breathed as she pulled the door shut behind them. She caught sight of Michael zooming past, though he left the Tylenol and a glass of water on the countertop as he passed. She had no idea where he was headed, but she focused on keeping Ginny upright and let him do whatever he was doing.

"All right," she said, and hooked her arm around Ginny's narrow frame. "Let's come over to the couch, okay? Do you feel sick?"

"You guys've a pretty house," Ginny remarked with a loud sniff. Holly smiled sadly.

As they made their way around the bar to the living room, Holly noticed that Ginny favored her left side, as though she were in pain there. She was mindful of this when she brought Ginny down to the couch, balancing her gingerly on her right side. As soon as she was seated, Ginny stopped squinting, the pain hopefully a bit relieved.

"Good job," Holly reassured her. "How are you feeling? Do you feel sick?"

"Everything hurts," Ginny said, on the verge of more tears. She laid her palm against her temple, right above her bruise, and squeezed her eyes shut. "Hhhhh- _damn it_ , damn it, _damn_ it…"

Holly's chest felt collapsed as she examined Ginny's injury — reaching a bluish tint by now, gruesome but contained to one area. She grimaced, reaching up to dab at the side of her nose with her fingertip. Ginny shrunk away instantly.

"Okay…" Holly thought to herself. She leaned back to call, "Michael, can you bring some ice?"

" _Roger!"_

"Okay. Let me just check your nose, okay?" she said to Ginny, who didn't appear to love the idea. "Just gently, okay. Tell me if this hurts."

"Everything hurts…"

"I know," Holly said with a hollow breath, still in shock over this entire thing. She applied light pressure to her nose, just enough to see if it had been broken. When Ginny didn't reach an outburst, Holly took it as a good sign.

"All right!" Michael announced as he flooded back into the living room, arms full with two towels, a trash can, and the blanket they kept at the foot of the bed. He dropped all these things on the floor before Holly, and turned back toward the kitchen without a second to spare. Holly marveled at this efficiency.

"I don't think your nose is broken," Holly said, with a huff of relief. "Is anything else hurt? Your side?"

"We have to call the police!" Michael realized as he set the glass of water, the Tylenol, and the ice pack on the coffee table. He jolted around to find his phone. "What did he look like? Did he steal anything?"

Ginny just pulled the side of her shirt up, to reveal one long bruise along her ribcage — as if she'd been thrown into something. Holly cringed, but nodded reassuringly.

"Where did it happen? Was it in that creepy alley by the Denny's?"

"Please don't- don't, don't," Ginny implored, shaking her head vigorously. "Don't call the police."

"Did he look like one of the FBI's Most Wanted?"

"Honey, slow down," Holly interrupted Michael. She reached out for his arm, but he was pacing so much that she couldn't get a hold of him. "I don't think-"

"I'm dialing!"

Ginny's breaths grew panicked and shallow, until she was sobbing again, hands shielding her face…

" _Michael_ , look at me."

Michael finally stopped what he was doing to look down at Holly, who shook her head firmly. "Don't call," she said in a lower tone. She glanced at Ginny, who was hyperventilating at the mere idea. "Not yet."

This seemed to disagree with Michael, who had entered full panic mode, but he trusted her and turned the phone off. He took a deep breath, and replied, "I'm checking WebMD." Then he turned back down the hallway.

Holly wrinkled her eyebrows. "For wh-"

"I'm _checking WebMD_!"

Maybe she was just dizzy from the drinks at dinner, but he seemed to be moving a mile a minute. She decided she could only handle one hysterical person at a time, so she turned her focus back to Ginny.

She was balanced precariously against the couch cushion, cringing as she curiously felt at her face. As much pain as she appeared to be in, she didn't seem in shock. Holly wondered how common of an occurrence this was.

This wasn't the most comfortable topic to broach, but Holly couldn't really move past it. So she set her hand on Ginny's arm, trying to comfort, before asking, "Were… you at home?"

She couldn't help the vagueness. The other option was to come out and ask, " _So this was your brother, amirite? Didn't I warn you about this already? Hurr de hurr…"_

She had to sober up. Maybe Michael would make them some coffee.

"I wasn't supposed to be," Ginny mumbled, sounding guilty. She sniffed and wiped her face roughly, creating new, artsy streaks of eyeliner along her cheekbone. "I mean, _he_ wasn't. Advice of counsel, and all that _shit_ they've… been on about. I was supposed not to be living with me — with him…"

"Your brother?" Holly asked, and bit her lip.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. "It'ws just so stupid. He was doing fine. We got him't go into rehab, and he left it early on good hh-behavior…"

Either she was talking about prison, or her brother had left rehab _himself —_ but Holly was pretty sure rehab facilities didn't do "good behavior."

"N'now that's all done," Ginny spat. Her head slowly fell back to the couch. "And Lex m- she moved out because I was a _bad_ , bad roommate…"

"I'm sure that's not true," Holly said, and attempted to wipe at Ginny's stained cheek. Nothing budged. "Michael, can you bring a wet rag?"

" _And so_ me tissues," Ginny said, but her voice softened at the end, expression faltering as if she didn't feel comfortable asking him for things.

" _What?"_

"Some tissues!" Holly echoed her. Then she softened her voice to add, "Listen, it's gonna be okay now. You're gonna stay here tonight, and we'll get sober and talk this out tomorrow, okay? But you're not going back home."

"But what if-"

" _Puffs or Kleenex?"_

"Either!" Holly called back quickly. "What if what?"

"-needs me, then I get the- I have to bring him," Ginny stuttered, near incoherence, "if he hurts himself, I have to be- I have to drive him to the hospital…"

"Honey, you can't drive like this anyway," she whispered. Ginny's face crumpled, so Holly reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Does he hurt himself often?"

Ginny shook her head furiously. "Not anymore, but he _could_ …"

"Then don't worry," Holly insisted. "Just breathe…"

She heard the advice but couldn't seem to take it, rocking slightly back and forth in her anxiousness, jaw clenched, lips puffy, eyes sunken, face swollen. She was the picture of terror, and the underlying ache, the burning concern, of a mother or a sister or someone who had someone to take care of. It was heartbreaking and familiar, like a picture in a childhood hallway.

"Ginny," Holly started.

"I don't know what to do," she sobbed, pressing her fists to her eyes before looking up at Holly. Her lips twitched. "I don't know what to do. I don't know. I thought I had it working and then I messed it all up and-"

"It's not your _fault_ -"

"If I had just- no, it is!" Ginny shot back. "If I had just picked up the stupid milk, he wouldn't have gotten mad, but I was _stupid_ and-"

"You aren't stupid," Holly said, and reached out to smooth down Ginny's hair — but Ginny misinterpreted this movement and dissolved into a hug, face falling into Holly's shoulder, her whole body tangibly trembling. Holly jolted, tipsy enough that this had happened almost without her realization; but she adapted, arms wrapping around Ginny and drawing her in gently.

In the reflection of the sliding glass door, Holly stared at herself, watching as she started to relax into the embrace and run a comforting hand up and down Ginny's back. She hardly knew the girl, but she knew the pain she was facing more intimately than she knew most things — and maybe, that's why she felt so suddenly obligated to help her, and to make her feel safe.

Then, Michael appeared in the glass, rushing in from the hallway. Holly looked back at him.

"I couldn't find Kleenex," he breathed, as if he had been asked to do this. "So here's some with the lotion, and the rag, and breath mints for the future… and we need a pillow, and- and I checked WebMD-"

"Honey?" Holly said gently, as Ginny started back from the hug just slightly. "Are you- you seem tense."

"I'm not!" Michael shot back, and dropped the bag of Kleenex, then kneeing the coffee table in effort to catch them, which knocked the cup of water over onto the floor. He winced at his own clumsiness. "I'm _not_."

"I'm sorry," Ginny said, for no apparent reason. "I shouldn't have come here, Michael. You're my _boss_. I just- you gave me your address for emergencies and this isn't-"

"It's fine, it's fine, it's fine, no, seriously," Michael said, still sounding breathless. "I'm just trying to think… Trying to be a good host…"

"I've got this, honey," Holly assured him, and reached for the remote. Michael bumped the chair as he bent down to pick up the cup. "Don't worry about the water. I'll deal with it."

"Can I talk to you?" Michael asked quickly. "Just- for a second, in the hallway?"

Holly was reluctant to leave Ginny alone, but she could see that Michael _really_ needed some talking down — so she squeezed Ginny's shoulder and handed her the remote. "We've got Netflix and Hulu, and there are some Disney movies in the entertainment center."

"Okay," Ginny said and swiped at her cheeks. Holly stood from the couch and set the Kleenex in her place, which Ginny instantly took up like weapons against her own drunkenness.

Then Holly turned around to see Michael already starting down the hall, so she followed him. His steps were anxious and quick until he'd reached a place where he felt he could no longer be heard, and then he turned back and forced a smile at her. "Hi," he whispered.

Holly smiled softly, knowingly, and reached for his arm. "Is this freaking you out?"

"A little bit, yeah."

She had assumed it would. Drunk women freaked Michael out, which was why he tried to always be drunk when others were drunk. She knew why, too.

So she sighed and set her hand under his chin, drawing him in for a kiss. "Go to bed," she whispered, before returning to her usual height. "I'll stay out there with her."

Michael wrinkled his nose. "But I don't wanna sleep alone."

"She's _drunk_ ," Holly argued, and lowered her voice even further until she could barely hear it, herself. "And she's obviously been through more abuse, and I wouldn't want to be alone. I _know_ that," she added, with a hint of certainty from experience that left him with no real argument. He just stood silently for a moment.

Down the hall, they could hear the sound of a Disney movie beginning.

Holly bit her lip, and reached her arms out, wrapping him in a hug. He sighed and kissed her cheek sleepily. She squeezed him tightly before inching back.

"Abuse?" Michael then asked, as if it had just occurred to him, what she said.

Holly nodded, and mumbled, "I'll tell you about it in the morning. Go get some sleep."

"Okay…" he muttered, still mulling over the issue. He pinched her hand before letting it go. "You need anything?"

"Nope."

"You sure you don't need help?"

"Shh," Holly said, and dropped his other hand. "Go. I love you."

"I love you, too."

And she watched him turn and thud down the hallway, his anxiety seeming to melt off his shoulders, before turning and vanishing from view. And she yawned, and turned toward the kitchen to make some coffee and sober _everyone_ up a little bit…

* * *

 _ **Getting nearer to the end - fair warning that the ending isn't where the story was**_ **planned _to end, but it_ is _a resolution. Plus, I may have a little extra something in store before the story's over..._**


	98. I Don't Have Answers

**Chapter XCVIII**

 **I Don't Have Answers**

* * *

 _Woke up this morning, and I heard the news —_

 _And I know the pain of a heartbreak._

 _I don't have answers, and neither do you —_

 _But I know the pain of a heartbreak._

\- "When a Heart Breaks" by Ben Rector.

* * *

He couldn't _believe_ he'd set an alarm on a Sunday.

That wasn't just a complaint. He literally could not conceive in what half-drunk mindset he would have made the decision to set an alarm, on Saturday night, to wake him on a Sunday morning. Not only this, but to set an alarm to wake himself after what felt like three or four hours of sleep — that was criminal. If he had chosen to inflict such a thing on himself, then he deserved the punishment he now received.

So he pushed his eyes open against the dim light of dawn, his soul entering the stiffness of his muscles, the slight dizziness in his forehead, the burn of alcohol-breath settled in the back of his throat. He was met with the sight and the feel, or rather the lack of feeling, of an empty bed beside him. His arms stretched out as if to hold something — to grab onto the warmth that had vanished from the sheets, seemingly within the moments of his waking. His fingers curled numbly before him.

It was only August, but he could feel the cooling of autumn edging up from the floors. It made him resistant to rise, or even to wake. In his dreams, it was sunny spring and there was no five-foot-three hole in the mattress beside him…

Did he dare look at the clock? Would he expose himself to the dumbassery he'd created for himself? He predicted 7:30 A.M. On a _Sunday_.

He gave his eyes a rub before rolling over to stop the vibrating alarm and bite the figurative bullet.

Actually, it was 8:13. He just hadn't slept well enough for this hour to constitute a morning.

It was also an odd time to set an alarm.

Michael leaned as far as humanly possible to reach the buzzing phone on the bedside table without having to sit up, and like a true dreamer, he just managed it. Rolling onto his back again, he swiped to stop the timer — but found no timer. Instead, multiple text messages near too blurry to read, listed from newest to oldest:

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _someone better answer me before i drive over there i swear to god ill do it_

Michael's brow furrowed, and he continued to scroll.

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _get your ass UP MICHAEL SCOTT_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _i swear to god_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _ive been calling holly and shes not answering either god dammit michael wake up im freaking out_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _and the only other place i can think of is with you_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _ive tried her mom and lex and even tracked down fuckiN WALT_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _she left me a bunch of voicemails while donovan and i were out and we drove over there and the apartment was trashed and ive been up for hours trying to figure out where she IS_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _im sorry i know its sunday but youve gotta wake up man something is seriously wrong_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _michael i need to talk to you_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _have you seen her? has she contacted you at all?_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _okay im sorry for texting you in the middle of the night but PLEASE tell me ginny is with you and holly… we havent been able to get in touch with her and im really worried something happened or shes hurt or something_

By the time he reached the bottom, he'd sufficiently woken up and was now starting to make sense of Heather's panicked, non-grammatical rambling and cursing. And he realized that maybe, _maybe_ he ought to respond before Heather drove over there and woke everyone up in equally unceremonious style.

Sitting up against the will of his tense shoulders, he unlocked his phone and responded:

 _ **You:**_

 _Morning to you too. Shes with us._

Not five seconds later was she typing a response.

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _thank GOD…why the hell is she there? i swear to god if she drove i will f her up_

 _ **You:**_

 _She was at our door when we came home last night. Shes okay now. Holly took care of her_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _great so thanks for withholding that information for HOURS. i would have liked to sleep a bit. last night was hell_

It took every ounce of restraint he had to keep from responding, " _Oh, yes, really? Was it hell for you? Because it was awesome for us! Sleepover! Pillow fights! A drunk girl puking all night! All this and more!"_ followed by some strong language that came instinctively to him at this early hour. He wanted to throw his phone across the room. He was too tired to deal with Heather tonight — today, whatever.

 _ **You:**_

 _Trust me, it was for everyone_

He didn't consider it an exaggeration, either; last night was truly supernatural punishment. Not only had his and Holly's Saturday night sex-portunity and tipsy card-game-slash- _Zoolander_ -viewing been ruined, but Michael was forced to sleep alone, while listening to Ginny's musical puking and sobbing — missing Holly, mentally stressing over everything they'd have to arrange for Ginny to stay however long she would be staying… and emotionally on the fritz as he listened to the familiar sounds of a drunk woman, shambling about on her emotional rollercoaster, wreaking havoc. It hearkened back to days of old, when life was captained by daytime-drinker Jan Levinson and her vodka-is-holy-water phase.

He rolled over and buried his face in Holly's pillow, just to stave off the thoughts. Heather hadn't only stolen his sleep, now, but his blissful forgetfulness, too.

Michael hadn't known what would come over him last night, truly. He'd been prepared to stay up and take care of Ginny alongside Holly — to ask all the questions and hold the hair back and do all the things he knew were necessary. It was the scent of vodka that had done him in. It was the feeling of a drunk woman's nails digging into his sleeve. It was the unpredictability of the alcohol-sodden situation altogether.

It brought him back to places in his mind that he'd long put away. The sense of helplessness — of duty, responsibility for another human's safety, but also the fear for his own physical endangerment — the anticipation of berating, verbal punishment, and the hot end of a cigarette leaving him with no sense of what to do. Keying of his car. Slaps to the face and kicks to the knee. Insults. Cleaning up glass and scrubbing wine out of the carpet. Harsh screaming in the ear — the blurred edges between anger and sex and scratching and drunken sobbing and lipstick bite-marks. The question: _am I getting older, or is love getting scarier?_

Michael grabbed his phone and slid out of bed.

The more unnerving part of this was his absolute ignorance to the situation. Ginny had been working as his assistant for months now, and all he'd learned about her was that she was a handy-dandy toaster maker and college student who didn't talk much. He hadn't recognized something he _knew_. He hadn't seen it when it was happening to him, and now he'd missed it in her, too.

 _The black eye,_ he thought to himself. He flipped the bathroom light on to face himself in the mirror, expression scrunched up in disbelief. _Did I even ask about the black eye?_

He'd just stuck his toothbrush in his mouth when his phone buzzed on the counter.

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _i can come pick her up around lunchtime if that works for you guys_

Michael pursed his lips around the brush and set the phone down to finish brushing. He didn't know if Holly expected to keep Ginny there with them for the day, or what she wanted from this at all, even. She'd told him last night that Ginny couldn't go home. Where would she go, then?

He spit and then picked up his phone.

 _ **You:**_

 _Lemme talk to Holly_

He ran the water and rinsed, swishing thoughtfully over this issue. Another question occurred to him, so he typed:

 _ **You:**_

 _Youre gonna have her stay with you?_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _zach and me are talking about her going back and forth between us, why?_

His eyes widened.

 _ **You:**_

 _Youre with Zach?_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _well yeah, we were both freaking out so he came over…_

 _ **You:**_

 _Dot dot dot….._

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _oh ffs donovan is right beside me_

 _ **You:**_

 _Is that awkward?_

 _ **Heather Something**_

 _IS LUNCHTIME OKAY_

 _ **You:**_

 _LET ME TALK TO HOLLY THANK YOU_

He concealed her words behind a black screen and exited the bathroom promptly.

Michael had expected one of two situations when he'd fallen asleep last night — either (one) Holly would creep back into bed once Ginny had passed out on the couch, or she would wake him up in the morning to talk to him about this. He'd had the kind image of his fiancee looking down at him with a sleepy smile, whispering that she'd taken care of everything and all that was left to do was cuddle, sober.

But instead, he was left wondering if he needed to put pants on before he went out to his own living room.

He didn't want to risk it.

So he found the nearest pair of pajama pants and sneaked out into the hallway — quietly, so as not to wake the twenty-year old on the couch.

As he rounded the corner, he found that it was even brighter out in the living area, raising the question: had the other two slept at all? He cringed as he stepped out into the light, shrinking away like a vampire or a hungover teenager. His eyes adjusted slowly, and he groaned under his breath.

 _Heather owes me money. At least twenty bucks._

When he finally stopped seeing purple swirls, he was able to see the living room in front of him — the usual couch, chair, bean-bag, coffee table, TV, Dundie display, side tables — littered with random medicine bottles, now-warm ice packs, tissues, towels, a hairbrush, mouthwash, and so much more stuff that he was too tired to inventory. It looked like a comfort-bomb went off in their living room, leaving a wreck focal on a face-down wavy blonde and a curled-up human angel.

Ginny looked comfortable but miserable, but slightly less miserable than last night. Her hair was brushed but still a mess, and her legginged-legs were stretched out as far as possible, one balancing on the back of the couch and one hanging off the armrest. There was a trashcan set beside her, but it was empty, to Michael's relief.

Holly was fast asleep, despite her awkward position, rolled into a ball on his beanbag. Her face half-obscured, she looked relatively peaceful for her situation, although her sock feet were sliding down to the carpet. Michael frowned, and knelt down to inch them back up onto the beanbag.

She still looked very uncomfortable.

He couldn't imagine sleeping like that — but then, she'd been very busy when he'd last seen her. He'd never seen Holly in such a hardcore mode: so sure of everything she was doing, confident but with a gentleness even _he_ had never seen. She seemed to know exactly how to take care of Ginny, either out of maternal instinct or experience or…

Michael gingerly tugged a piece of hair out of the corner of her mouth. The corners of her eyes were squinted, so maybe she was dreaming. He tried not to wake her, but he couldn't keep from touching her in this state — brushing a finger through her hair, sliding all the way down to her shoulder…

He hoped she'd never experienced this. He hoped she'd never had a night like last night. That was the thought that tugged on him most.

So he leaned down onto the beanbag, behind her, and inched his arm over her to pull her in swiftly and smoothly. One limp roll landed her against his chest, and gave him the idea that he'd done it without waking her.

But then her nose wrinkled, and she inhaled one big breath, and he knew he'd done it. He lifted his head to look down at her face, as her eyes were just scrunching up and then opening…

"Hmm?" she asked, as if he'd said something. Once she'd blinked the sleep out of her eyes, she let her breath go. "Mhmm. Morning, you."

Michael smiled. "Morning." He craned his neck to kiss her cheek and then her jaw and then her neck, before letting his head drop back onto the beanbag. "This is comfier than it looked."

Holly chuckled sleepily. "Not for long… What time is it?"

"After eight," he muttered. She groaned quietly.

"Too early."

"I know — I'm sorry," Michael said, and buried his nose into her hair. "I'll let you go back to sleep. I just needed to ask you something."

"No, I need to… I should be up anyway," Holly said, trying to start up — but he guided her back down, and she didn't use any energy fighting back. "She may wake up soon."

Michael raised his eyebrows in disbelief and tightened his embrace. "You can go sleep in the bed. I'll take my turn out here."

"No…"

"Yes, ma'am, I will, and you can't stop me."

"Honey, I know this brings up negative feelings for you," she argued in a whisper. "I'm not gonna-"

"Yes, mhm, you are," he argued right back. He sat up halfway to look at her seriously. "I'll carry you if I have to."

Holly nodded skeptically. "Is this what you needed to wake me up for?"

" _No_ ," Michael shot back, and then softened, dropping another kiss on her cheek. "Heather's been trying to get a hold of us. She wants to know if she should come get Ginny at lunch."

This didn't receive much a response from Holly, minus a small humming noise — so small that it barely made it past a breathy huff. Her voice was always cute and on the edge of hoarse in the mornings, and sometimes her nose would get stuffed and she'd sound like a sick kid — like Chuckie from _Rugrats_ …

She was taking a while to respond.

He lifted his head, adding, "Does that work?"

Holly narrowed her eyes across the room. Michael followed her gaze to the couch.

Ginny was still unconscious, mascara-down on the couch cushions, looking sickly and… very young. She looked like she'd do better in the company of good friends — not her boss and the H.R. rep. That just didn't seem like a good mix.

"I'm thinking something," Holly finally said, and rolled onto her back to look at him. "I don't think you'll like it."

Michael bit his tongue. "You think she should stay."

Holly opened her mouth, as if to confirm, but sighed and looked back at Ginny. "I just don't think she should go with Heather. And definitely not back with her brother."

"But Heather knows her best, and she knows the situation…"

"She came _here_ ," Holly said firmly. "She came to us. She was too embarrassed to go to her friends, and she has no family except her brother, so she came where she felt safe. And that was _here_ , Michael — I mean, doesn't that say something?"

Michael rubbed his lips together nervously, and exhaled. " _Maybe_ , but-"

"And I know it's not comfortable for you-"

"But Heather and Zach already have this whole trade-off system worked out-"

" _Trading_?" Holly clarified, a tinge of horror in her voice. "They're gonna _trade her off_? Why?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, and gestured toward Ginny. "I mean, she's kind of a disaster, Hol. Heather has a son and Zach is young and… has emotional issues all of his own."

"My parents have an air mattress," Holly said, out of nowhere. "That second bedroom is mostly empty. We can drive her to work. We have no children."

"Yet."

"And- yeah," Holly said, smiling in spite of herself. "Not yet, so let's…"

Michael started to argue more, but when her smile faded, something in his eyes made him stop. She seemed very invested in this — more than just out of friendly concern for Ginny's wellbeing. Her conviction was emotional.

And he looked at Ginny and he saw her, and he saw a little bit of Jan — a little bit of his past that he didn't want to deal with. He heard screams of, " _I'm not an alcoholic!"_ and saw visions of coming home to broken things and _dirty_ things… and he felt scared. This ninety-pound college kid scared him.

But he got the feeling that Holly saw something else.

"A few days," Michael mumbled; and he pulled Holly in closer, tighter, and arguably possessively. He felt her relax, relieved by his decision…

He was just glad that she felt so confident, because as much as he liked Ginny, he was doing this for Holly and nothing else.

* * *

 _ **Nice, relaxing Sunday morning, isn't it? :) Thanks for the reviews and continued support!**_


	99. Tell Me I'm Not Going Home

**Chapter XCIX**

 **Tell Me I'm Not Going Home**

* * *

 _Sober nights,_

 _And Byron on my mind…_

 _Tell me I'm not going home,_

 _And I'll stop waiting by the phone._

\- "Berlin" by Ry X.

* * *

" _ **Teach me how to dougie-dougie t-teach me-**_ "

"Oh, how did _this_ end up on this playlist?" Holly complained loudly, over the volume her phone emitted and the sizzle of Holly's bacon and the crackle of Michael's pancakes. And none of this was a euphemism-

" _ **Teach me how to dougie-doug-**_ "

Holly stretched her arm as far around Michael's back as she could, but his elbow shot back to make things difficult for her.

"Don't change it!" Michael exclaimed, as he began to do whatever the "dougie" was. "I _love_ this song!"

"It's so inappropriate!" Holly said, a near-chastisement. "We're not playing it at the wedding."

"You haven't given it a fair shot," he said.

"Michael Scott," she said lowly, and reached around him again — but again, he cut her off, this time with excessive dancing motion. Holly's jaw dropped, and she tried again, but he hooked his arm around her. She pulled against his arm. "I'm not- _we're looking for wedding music and this_ -"

" _ **They be like smoove — what! Can you teach me-**_ "

" _-a love song!_ "

"It's a dance song!" Michael insisted. The moment he finally let her past, he picked up the phone with his free hand and held it up high in the air. "It's fun to dance to! Try it!"

Holly was doing a sort of dance, though, hopping up to try to steal her _own phone_ from him. Michael, not being too much taller than her, also had to hop to keep it away from her — all this commotion leaving their bacon and pancakes unattended at the moment. Holly didn't care. She _hated_ this song.

" _ **I show my moves off, now everybody tryna do me-**_ "

"Veto! I vetoed it!"

" _ **-the function and all the ladies tryna screw me-**_ "

"-chael, hand over the phone!"

"Shh, shh, shh, just-" Michael tried, laughing. "Just _dougie it out_. Just try it- _hoy_ -"

Holly jumped on his back for all of two seconds, and he burst into laughter — but losing his focus, surrendered the phone. Holly snatched it away and skipped the song immediately, giving him no more "swaggy" pleasure.

"Fine, that's fine," he mumbled, smiling to himself. He shoveled up a slightly-charred pancake and flopped it over. "I'll change your mind."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, uh-huh. Sure."

"You'll see."

"We'll see," Holly muttered, skipping another "dance song" and arriving at something by Gabrielle Aplin — one of Holly's songs, coincidentally. This was actually quite rare, because when they'd mashed together their playlists into one huge "Wedding Possibilities" playlist, Holly found that Michael had included his car songs, his workout songs, and his childhood lullabies — and virtually every song he'd ever known. There were even movie soundtracks in there. Holly's 100-song playlist paled in comparison to Michael's hulking 500-odd songs.

So over the next week, they were going to be narrowing down their options at every possible opportunity, including, if not especially, breakfast time. So far, they'd only burned through about twenty songs.

Michael was still humming "Teach Me How To Dougie" underneath the song that was currently playing, to Holly's amusement. She spatula-ed up two pieces of cooked bacon, dropping them onto the plate at her side, and retrieved two more raw pieces. "Besides, I really doubt Darryl and Kevin would be willing to sing it. Maybe Kevin… but I'm hearing that in my head, and I'm not liking it."

"Wait, are they doing _all_ the songs?" he interrupted. "I thought we'd be having some on an automatic playlist, at some point."

Holly was about to answer this question — but then she realized that she hadn't thought about this until now. She pursed her lips. "I… don't know. I guess we'd need to talk to them."

"I just, I _don't_ …" Michael began, shaking his head. "… _want_ … to hear Kevin's voice when we're dancing."

And even though Holly agreed a little, she took offense for Kevin, looking up at Michael with a wrinkled forehead. "Why not?" she challenged. "Kevin has a noice voice- a nice-"

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "A _noice voice_?"

"I meant _nice_ voice," Holly shot back, smiling at her own slip. "You know what I mean!"

" _Crikey, mate!_ " he enunciated while flopping another pancake off the griddle. " _Those ah some_ _ **noice**_ _dingos you got theyah! Why don't you and oy pop ova to tha_ _ **bahbie**_ _-_ "

Holly shushed him, but Michael just sputtered indignantly in his shameful Australian accent — so Holly, both hands occupied, stretched up to bite his shoulder.

"Ow, ow!" he shouted, even louder than before, and turned completely to look at her with a mock-serious expression. He poked his spatula at her. "That was uncalled for."

"You were making fun of me," Holly said smartly, fighting a smile. "You deserved it."

"Oh, well you know what you deserve?"

Holly's eyes rounded. "What?"

Then he was kissing her, spatula dropped on the counter so that he could take her by the waist with both hands. Holly beamed under his lips and pressed into the kiss, eyes squeezing shut. Michael smiled, too, pulling her up to his mouth…

A door opened down the hall. Holly and Michael simultaneously jolted apart, both turning to their respective cookery, in perfect timing. And they hadn't even planned it.

Ginny must have finished showering. Holly cleared her throat.

That was when, under the sizzling and hissing of the stovetop, she could make out the song currently underscoring their breakfast-making…

Without looking up from her last few pieces of bacon, Holly asked, "Is this _Mission Impossible?_ "

"Yep."

"Right."

Michael gave his pancake an exaggerated flip, and the two of them shrunk back as it flew. When it landed squarely in the center of the pan, though, cheers broke out. Holly dropped her spatula to applaud.

And the carpet in the hallway made every footstep ninja-silent, so when Ginny appeared in the doorway, they were caught off-guard and instantly quieted. This, of course, caused Ginny — who stood frozen in the same clothes as last night minus a few layers; hair washed and cheeks rid of mascara stains; expression no longer twisted up in sobs but now oddly straight, if a little flushed — to wait nervously at the edge of the kitchen, refusing to enter. No words were spoken.

They just stood there listening to _Mission Impossible_.

Eventually, Michael broke the stillness to shovel up his pancake. Holly turned her focus to the last few pieces of bacon, hoping that this would help Ginny to feel less awkward. Holly's shoulders didn't relax until she heard a barstool squeak across the floor.

The theme song was growing closer to ending. Holly only knew this because during the last few measures, Michael began to anxiously nudge her with his elbow. Holly's eyebrows wrinkled; she nudged him back. He sent her a pointed look, and she sent him one right back. Then he mouthed, " _Say something."_

" _I don't know what to-"_

" _She's_ _ **your**_ _-"_

" _What- what- what do I — 'good morning'-"_

" _Just do it, just do it just-"_

" _-wanna make her unc_ _ **omf**_ _-"_

" _-it, just do it, just say, just do it, just_ _ **do**_ _-"_

"Good morning," Holly finally said, head flying up and then turning back to look at Ginny. Ginny's eyes were wide. She looked _extremely_ uncomfortable.

"Good morning," she mumbled back, and looked down at the plate of bacon beside Holly.

So Holly retrieved the last of the cooked bacon from the pan and asked, "Feel like eating anything yet?"

Ginny considered this, grimacing a little. "Maybe a little."

"Okay!" Holly replied a bit quickly. She wiped her hands off on a towel and looked up as she recited, "We have bacon and pancakes, and I can make some eggs if you want. And we have oatmeal, but we… ate all of the kind with peaches. And there's Honey Bunches of Oats, Cheerios, Frosted Flakes, Fruity Pebbles-"

"I finished those," Michael said over her shoulder.

"Okay, so not that…"

"I'll just have a banana," Ginny interrupted, putting on a small smile.

Holly's eyebrows rose, but she nodded. "Okay. Just let me know if you change your mind."

"Eggs are really good for hangovers," Michael said, out of nowhere. Holly turned back to look at him. "I'll make you some if you want to try. I promise it feels better than it sounds."

Holly smiled at him, and turned back toward Ginny.

"I guess I can try it," she decided, shrugging. She leaned her eyebrow on her hand and added, "My head's killing me."

Hearing this, Holly inched around Michael and reached up for the cabinet over the sink, where they kept the medicine. She found the Excedrin and brought it over to Ginny. "Here you go. God's gift to the hungover woman."

"Then thank God," Ginny said as she popped the lid off. She took them in silence, drowning herself with half a glass of water. Meanwhile, Holly stood there nervously, waiting until Ginny was finished to ask her next question — one that was a bit more involved than, " _What would you like for breakfast?"_

"So Heather texted this morning," Holly forced out, and pressed her palms into the edge of the countertop. "She wants to know if you'd want her to come pick you up in about an hour."

"No," Ginny said right off the bat. "No, I don't- I'm not… doing that. I don't want to see her."

Holly's mouth hung open, then, unsure of how to respond. "I… okay. I mean, you don't have to. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Ginny started to shoot something back, but her expression softened — perhaps not expecting this response. Her shoulders dropped, and she looked down at her hands. "Thanks."

Holly shook her head, lips pressed together. "Of course."

Ginny looked over at Michael, who was minding his own business as he retrieved the eggs from the refrigerator — and she lowered her voice to explain, "It's just that if she sees me, she'll try to go… flare things up again. And I don't want that — I just want…"

"For it to be over?" Holly supplied.

Ginny's eyes widened in exasperation. "Yes. It's just better that way."

Holly wasn't sure if she agreed, but it was Ginny's situation and Holly only wanted to work with her on this. So she took a deep breath and looked back at Michael briefly before she spoke.

"Well, we're completely fine with you… staying _here_ , for the time being," she said, pausing to gauge Ginny's response. Her expression was completely straight, of course. "I mean, assuming that you don't go _back_. I hope… I hope you won't go back."

Ginny lifted her head in apparent surprise, blinking quickly, perhaps defensively. Her mouth twitched. "I'm not."

She tried to hide how relieving this was to her. "Good," Holly said, nodding. "So if you want to, you know, stay here, we've got the spare room down the hall. We have an air mattress… and… I guess your stuff is still…"

Her expression instantly went from neutral and stiff to anxious and uncomfortable, so Holly backed off the topic before she'd even begun. She supposed some things could be worked out later, but for now, they'd at least figured out the next twenty-four hours. That may just be how they'd do this.

"I like this song!" Michael announced while cracking eggs, breaking the silence that had sneaked up on them. "Put it on the list."

Holly took this as her cue to change the topic, so she grabbed a piece of bacon and the pencil across the counter. "Aye, aye, captain…"

"What's the list?" Ginny asked, and leaned over to see what Holly was writing. "Wedding stuff?"

"Yes, indeed," she replied. She inked out " _You and I — Ingrid Michaelson"_ and added, "We're trying to plan as much as we can, you know, whenever we can. We've only got four months, and all we've got is the venue and _possibly_ a caterer."

Ginny wrinkled her forehead. "You don't have a dress yet?"

Holly chuckled at that. "That is a good question. I thought I might borrow my mom's, but then it turns out she lost it in the move, so… not good news for anyone."

"Oh," she said, eyes wandering. "And… the wedding party? The cake? The photographer?"

" _Nothing_ ," Holly replied, biting her lip. "Literally nothing but the venue… Is that bad?"

Ginny just blinked at her. "I'd say 'very unorganized'."

In her peripheral vision, Michael bobbed his head in acceptance of the fact. Holly felt a little more self-conscious.

That was when an unfamiliar ringtone filled the room, emanating from the couch cushions across from them. Ginny instantly recognized it and sleepily slumped off the barstool to go get it. Holly pretended not to be watching curiously while Ginny found her phone and answered it.

"Hello?"

Even from across the room, Holly could hear the voice on the other end of the line. Ginny jolted at the sound and quickly turned toward her and Michael with wide eyes. She pointed to the glass doors, and Holly nodded. Then she retreated out to the patio, sliding the door shut behind her.

Her absence left an incredible silence as both Holly and Michael tried to hear the conversation while pretending _not_ to be eavesdropping. They both stood frozen, while her phone continued to play.

" _Let's get rich and build a house on a mountain, making everybody look like ants… And way up there…"_

"So she's staying with us?" Michael asked. Holly turned to face him, finding he looked more concerned than relieved.

"If you're still comfortable with it," she replied, leaning back against the counter. The music faded to an end, as did any further discussion.

Holly opened her mouth to ask if he really _was_ okay with it…

" _ **What**_ _are you looking at?"_

And then Michael's eyes lit up. And Holly cringed, shaking her head before he could even start. " _No_ , no, no. We're not doing it. I'm too tired."

But it was too late. It was happening. She could see it in his eyes. "Vogue" was happening, and she just hoped to god that Ginny wouldn't come inside to see it.

So without breaking eye contact, Holly pursed her lips… and struck a pose.

* * *

 _ **99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer...**_


	100. My Undying, Death-Defying Love for You

**Chapter C**

 **My Undying, Death-Defying Love for You**

* * *

 _I'll protect you from the hooded claw —_

 _Keep the vampires from your door…_

 _When the chips are down, I'll be around_

 _With my undying, death-defying love for you…_

\- "The Power of Love" by Gabrielle Aplin.

* * *

"So who do you think: Dwight or Jim?"

"When are we _even_ gonna have sex?" Michael lamented — as loudly as he wanted now, because Ginny was not in the car with them. And for this reason, he did not hold back any single complaint.

"Well, he's married now," Holly replied. She glanced down at her phone, then hit the turning signal. "So I think you missed your shot."

Frankly, he was not in the mood for her sarcasm.

"I'm serious!" he shot back, bordering whiny but not caring. "We have a minor living in our house, and she _works with us_. It'll be weeks before we do it again, won't we?"

" _Turn left in 1.3 miles."_

"It's gonna be all right," she assured, glancing over at him. She, of course, looked gorgeous today, and that was torture for him. "Besides, she's got class in the evenings… And she's not a minor."

"If you can't legally drink, you're pretty much a minor," Michael muttered. He pinned his eyes on the road ahead, trying to keep his thoughts singular…

It had been a difficult Sunday, to say the least. Sunday was their sex day. Saturday was their errand-slash-movie-slash-rollerskating day. Saturday was when they were social and fun and responsible and adults. But Sunday was _their_ day — the day of rest and shower sex. That was how God intended it.

So when he'd hopped into the shower with her this morning and remembered that their Sunday had been _hijacked by a college student_ , he was a little frustrated.

Holly was sensitive to it, at least. "You're too tense," she said quietly, sparing him a small smile. "Let's just go pick this stuff up, and then we can go home and take a bath."

"Baths don't fix all the world's problems, okay?" Michael said, a bit harshly. He lowered his voice. "Like I need to be wet and naked with you right now."

"I think a bath would calm you down."

"I don't need to be calmed down. I'm calm!"

"I'll rub your neck, too, if you want," Holly offered, peeking sideways at him. Her eyes were full of affection and a little mischief.

On top of being incredibly sexy today, she was also being very patient with him, and that just wasn't fair.

"Fine," Michael muttered, as if this were a difficult thing to allow. He waited until Holly turned her head to let himself smile at how sweet his fiancee was. Then when she turned back, he put back on his pouty face.

Holly then veered left onto another street Michael didn't recognize, in the middle of this creepy neighborhood Michael _also_ didn't recognize — each street growing a little trashier and a little grayer, even in the middle of the afternoon. Michael grimaced as his gaze bounced from one window to another, trying not to appear as paranoid as he felt. He didn't know how Ginny lived here. He didn't even wanna be here for the next ten minutes, and he was a sorta-strong six-foot man.

He really didn't want Holly to come with him, either, but she'd insisted, and he couldn't change her mind. He'd pointed out that Ginny could just buy new stuff, but that didn't go over well. He'd also pointed out that Heather could do it, since she knew Ginny's brother and she also seemed very strong. That didn't go over well, either.

So here they were, 2.3 miles away from their destination — the doorstep of a violent alcoholic. And Holly was trying to distract him with wedding plans.

"So who are you thinking?" she asked. He felt as though she'd asked him this already, but he really didn't remember what it was about.

"I'm… thinking about you," he tried in a sweet tone.

"For your groomsmen," Holly explained, chuckling at him. "We have to start making these decisions. It's only gonna get busier as we go."

"Okay," Michael agreed, bobbing his head. "Right. So… Jim, Dwight, obviously…"

"Obviously," she echoed with a smile.

" _Turn right in two miles."_

"And… It can't be the band guys, can it?" he asked, and sat up straight. "Andy, Darryl, Kevin? They're gonna be playing when we go down the aisle, aren't they?"

Holly looked at him, and then took a double take, and shrugged. "Don't look at me. We haven't picked a song yet."

"We should probably do that."

"Uh-huh."

" _Turn right in 1.5 miles."_

"Yeah, we _know_ ," Michael said to the phone. He turned it down a few clicks and added, "If they're playing, then I guess I'd have to go with Jim, Dwight, Ryan… Oscar, I guess… Who am I forgetting?"

"Toby," Holly remarked, eyebrows raised. When she looked over at him, he did not laugh.

"Toby is _not_ invited to our wedding," he stated calmly.

Holly grinned at that and switched lanes. "We'll see."

"Honey, he is _not invited_ to our wedding!"

"That is your opinion."

Michael shot up in his seat. "It's not opinion. It is the facts of life. Toby Flenderson, may Satan rest his soul, is not allowed to show his face on the happiest day of our lives. It's non-negotiable."

"I just said 'we'll see'!" Holly said, fighting a grin.

"But- but we _won't_ see, _anything_ ," Michael insisted. "I'd rather get married at the courthouse. Or die. I'd rather _die_ than-"

" _Turn right in one-"_

"We _know_!" he snapped at the phone. Then to punish it, he put it on silence. "No wonder I'm tense. The world's against me today."

Holly frowned at him, and reached over to run her hand down his arm. "You know what you need?"

"Stanley!" Michael realized, finally remembering the man he'd forgotten. Then he counted off on his fingers. "Jim, Dwight, Ryan, Oscar, and Stan-lay! That's it. The dream-team groomal party."

Her eyes were wide. "That's _five people_."

"That's five people!" he shot back gleefully. Then he noticed some weird guy at the stoplight looking at him through the window, so he sobered up a little. "That's five people. That's my guys, honey. You said I needed my guys."

"You do," Holly said. "And I'm happy for you. But that means I have to find five bridesmaids."

" _Turn right in 0.5 miles."_

"I swore I turned this thing off…" Michael completely shut the app on her phone, then shoved it underneath him to smother it. He turned back to Holly. "You can get five bridesmaids. You already have 'girls' here."

"I don't think we should put coworkers in the wedding, though," she explained. "Not because I think they'd tell, but-"

" _Turn ri_ -"

And Michael, now reaching the height of irritabilty, pulled the phone out from under his lap, popped open the glove compartment, and stowed the technology away for the rest of the drive… where no one could hear it scream.

He dropped back in his seat, then, with an anxious huff — he crossed his arms over himself to deter from the slight cold in the car. Holly sighed beside him, though he didn't turn to look. He didn't need to look to know that she thought he was too tense. All day, she'd been telling him to relax.

But he couldn't — especially not now, when Holly was turning onto Ginny's street in the middle of this crummy neighborhood, looking out her window for her apartment complex. He didn't _like_ this. He'd rather buy Ginny whole new wardrobe. He'd rather _sit outside the dressing room while she tried on a whole new wardrobe._

"Pam."

Michael's head whipped up. He cleared his throat. "What?"

"Phyllis," Holly continued without turning. "Kelly, and Angela. There's four."

"Wait, no," he interrupted, shaking his head. " _No_. Don't put Angela in the wedding! Don't do that to me!"

"I'd feel uncomfortable having Andy in it and not Angela," she said with a frown, and eased up on the gas. "They were engaged. It would feel like picking sides."

"Uh, _she cheated on him_. There's only one side," Michael argued. He watched as Holly turned into the parking lot of what appeared to be Ginny's place. "God, this place looks disgusting."

"I'd still need one more," Holly said, apparently ignoring him. She pulled into a barely-marked parking spot and reached a stop. Then she looked at him. "You said you had something different for Erin, so…"

" _Why_ would Ginny live here?" Michael looked out the back window and furrowed his brow. "It's not even close to her campus!"

"It's her brother's apartment," she explained.

"It's a drug den. That's what it is."

"We'll just be in there a minute," Holly said, again never minding his valid points. She craned her neck down to find her seatbelt buckle. "Just relax."

" _Stop_ telling me to relax!" he snapped, _loudly_. Holly froze, thumb over her seatbelt button, blinking at it. She didn't look up. She didn't respond.

Guilt heated his cheeks. He swallowed.

"Sorry," Michael uttered — and Holly reanimated, unbuckling her seatbelt and straightening up. He sighed. "You're right — I'm tense. I'll just- we'll do this, and do the bath, and I'll get over it. I'm sorry."

She met his eyes again, then, and nodded subtly. "Okay. Let's just do it."

"Let's just- yeah," he said, unbuckling. He popped his door open and mumbled, "Rip off the band-aid. Let's do it."

The air outside was without feeling — temperate, with no wind and no humidity. It was like standing in their living room, except for the distant 80's metal playing down the street and the occasional passing car. The sun was hidden behind clouds, casting a milky light on the pale-yellow walls of the apartment building in front of them. Overhead, someone smoked on their lawn-furnished balcony. Some of the sliding doors were left ajar, as if to catch wind of the whimsical Def Leppard crunching its way through distant speakers.

He'd never felt so white-trash in his life.

Rounding the car, he found Holly waiting with arm extended to him; he accepted her hand gratefully and gave a firm grip. They exchanged a quick kiss before taking that first step, in death march, to the doorless entry to the brick-laid stairwell — both curving to evade a fuzzy insect at home in the cracks of the outer brick. Michael subconsciously pinched Holly's fingers, one by one, as they passed through the doorway and reached the stairs.

Michael hesitated, then, but Holly charged on. He kept up with her, and started talking to distract himself.

"Yeah," he said, going back in time a bit. "So you don't have a… a flower girl option in your family, do you?"

Holly pursed her lips in thought. "Not that I can think of, no. I was hoping you did — like a niece or something."

"See, I didn't think so," he continued, rounding the corner. "So I was thinking that — and this may sound dumb, and maybe she wouldn't do it — but I was _thinking_ of maybe asking Erin to be the flower girl. You know, since we have that kind of- we have a dynamic, that I think… you know?"

She waited to respond, a smile creeping onto her face as she looked at him. Finally, she admitted, "That would be very sweet. I think you should ask her."

His eyebrows shot up. "Really? You think she'd want to?"

"Oh, absolutely," Holly said. "We need to video chat them this week."

They rounded another corner, which, judging from Holly's facial expression, was the last corner. Michael's grip, which had at some point relaxed, now tightened again. He struggled to keep the conversation alive.

"We could catch them all at the same time," Michael suggested. They stepped off the last stair, into the third floor of the apartment building. He watched Holly look around for the door number that only she knew. "During work. Think you could slip into my office… secret-ninja-like?"

Holly took a moment to respond, until she appeared to find the apartment. Her eyes perked up, and she started digging into her pocket for the key Ginny gave her. "I don't know, honey. We could get caught."

Michael followed her gaze to the door. He was barely able to keep up with the conversation himself, but he tried. "But I wanna ask them together. I can't ask the girls to be your bridesmaids."

"Then we should wait until the weekend," Holly said, with a sense of finality, before coming away with the key. She then approached the door that read 5C, and he inched up behind her. "Besides, we really shouldn't be interrupting their workday. Doesn't that upset their boss?"

Michael grimaced. "Who cares? Their boss is probably some jerk anyway."

She smiled as she unlocked the door. "I think you're a little biased."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"Am _not_."

Holly smiled and pushed the door open. "Are t-"

But then she stopped, cold, as if the breath behind the word had been whisked away. She stood still, hand on the doorframe, head just peeking into the apartment.

Michael furrowed his brow, stepping forward to get a better look at what was inside. He feared, for a moment, that she was face-to-face with Ginny's brother — but when she finally dropped her arm, he could see that this wasn't the case.

The apartment was small and... trashed. There was only a little floor space between articles of clothing, napkins and other trash, and carpet stains of every color imaginable — the whole place overall reeking of college-boy sweat and alcohol — _loads_ of alcohol. The furniture was all pulled out and off-center; the microwave was left open, and the counter was littered with beer cans and empty cereal boxes. The sliding door was left open, with a baseball bat leaning up against it. The TV was left on.

It gave Michael itches all over. He rubbed his forehead anxiously, looking at Holly.

"Well," she breathed, eyes wide. "It's very... lived in."

His eyebrows rose. He couldn't believe she was this relaxed.

After continuing to scan the room, she finally looked back at him, as if for confirmation. "You have the list?" she asked, looking down toward his pocket where his phone was hiding. Ginny had texted them both a list of her necessities. He hadn't even looked at it.

So he pulled his phone out and handed it to her with a sigh. She took it with no problem, marching into the apartment. He followed slowly, steps more careful to avoid the laundry all over the floor. It was like "the floor is lava," except the floor was the only thing he was trying to touch.

"Okay," Holly said, scrolling through Ginny's list. She turned back to face him. "I will get the bedroom and bathroom stuff. Can you get the medicine cabinet and the clothes out of the dryer?"

Michael bit his lip and mumbled, "'kay."

"Thank you," she made sure to add before heading down the hallway. Then she called over her shoulder, "The medicine's over the sink. She just needs the two prescriptions on the... _lower_ shelf."

"Yeah," he said to himself, and inched into the kitchen area. He ignored the massive collection of dirty dishes in the sink as he made for the cabinet with a sigh.

He was surprised, ultimately, at the amount of medications up in the cabinet. They were all for a Walter Howard — Michael didn't recognize any of the names, but he knew that needing _this many_ medications couldn't be good. Plus he was sure they weren't supposed to be mixed with alcohol…

Unable to help himself, Michael turned from the cabinet to look over the place again, just to assess the actual amount of beer cans in here. They were in the kitchen, and they were in the living room, and there was a sea of cans lying behind the couch — nothing but alcohol, _everywhere_. The sight and the smell made him nauseous.

He grabbed the two bottles he needed and shut the cabinet quietly - not that there was anyone to disturb. Michael swallowed hard, unable to keep looking around at it all. Still, he remained there, frozen.

Finally, he woke from his state and fled the kitchen, heading over and around dirty t-shirts toward the hallway Holly had taken. He wasn't sure where the laundry machine was, so he stepped slowly through the hall, peeking into each door cautiously. At the end of the hall, he found, through a door ajar, a stack of laundry baskets. He pushed the door aside, revealing the rest of the small laundry room, composed of a washer and a dryer, a closet lined with hung-up clothes, and in the corner, a shattered chair.

Michael's heart stopped. He swallowed hard, looking over his shoulder in expectation of Holly — but she was still in the bedroom.

There wasn't really a good explanation for the state of this wooden chair. It was broken — against the wall, judging from the suspicious scuff marks — and now shoved into the corner, all shattered wood pieces and a torn cushion. It sat there like a living memory of something horrible.

Then he smelled jasmine. Sickeningly-strong jasmine.

He knew he needed to get the clothes out of the dryer. If he didn't, and if he ran back to Holly asking her if they could go, she would just tell him to "relax" and he would be embarrassed and then he'd have to come back in this same room. He should just do it now, while he was here. He just had to go over to the dryer...

Peppermint. It wasn't jasmine. It was peppermint, and sandalwood, and… dewy morning...

The sudden assault on his senses was overwhelming and disgusting. He felt sick. He felt physically sick.

"Holly?" Michael called back, against his better judgment. He inhaled sharply, shakily...

" _Just- just a second. I'm almost done."_

So was he, except for this damn laundry.

Ginny _needed_ her clothes. The place was empty, just like he wanted it. They hadn't been met with a violent drunk or an assassin. Everything was just how Holly said it would be, so if he could just get these clothes out of this _goddamn_ _dryer-_

 _Jasmine —_ Lilacs, Sugar Cookie, Bakery, Warm Bakery — she couldn't decide between the two bakeries. They were both fine. Neither of them smelled like bakeries, but they were fine. They were _fine_. Why was she so obsessed? They all smelled _fine, they smell fine, they smell fine they smell_ -

Michael jerked back from the door, dropping the prescription bottles; he marched back down the hallway, toward the only other open door. Once he'd laid a hand on the doorpost, he started with a heavy voice, "I need to go. This is…"

And he expected Holly to turn at the sound of his voice, but she didn't. She stood stiffly, hands settled on the edge of the sink, staring down at something. Her hair hung in front of her face so he couldn't see.

The tiny bathroom was perhaps the cleanest part of the apartment, dirtied only by spilled makeup and powder on the countertop. And there was a _lot_ of makeup, all skin-colored, lining the sides of the sink in an organized row — except a few were missing. Holly held a rag in her hands, as if she'd been cleaning up for someone.

"Hey," Michael said, breaking the odd silence. "What is it?"

Holly's head whipped toward him to reveal eyes full of shiny tears, making pale tracks down her face, seeming to come out of nowhere. Michael furrowed his brow in panicked confusion, until she held up the rag to show stains — pale, and mascara black, and…

Then he saw, just past Holly, on the toilet seat, an open and depleted first aid kit. Beside it, more makeup, and tweezers with what looked like the remnants of wood splinters — all looking so neat, all looking so normal.

And there stood Holly, in the middle of it, with a haunted look in her eyes. She shifted her gaze between Michael and the sink and the first aid kit and the rag…

"It just," Holly started, and ended. She shook her head, tossing her hands, as though she just didn't know what to do — hands coming over her mouth, head shaking. "It's just… _This_ is…"

It felt like going back in time. That's all he could think — that he was stepping back into years past and looking at his own life from the perspective of someone older and smarter, and realizing that he'd _been there_. He'd _chosen_ to be there. He'd thought that was the right place to be, and so this was what he suffered.

He looked up at Holly again, who sniffed and blinked back the tears. "I don't know if I can do this," she admitted, and wiped her cheeks. "It feels too real. It feels like-"

"I know," Michael said, his own breath catching with the words. Holly turned her head, eyes landing on him with some kind of surprise — as if she hadn't expected him to understand what she was trying to say. But he did understand. He knew exactly what she was feeling.

And that was why he didn't say anything else. He just stepped across the creaky tile and reached his arms out; and the second he did, Holly turned and stepped into his arms, eyes squeezing shut. Michael's throat formed a lump when he caught the pain in her expression just before her face buried itself in his shirt. He tightened his embrace around her, pressing her in tightly…

And for the first time in a long time, he let himself cry — deliberately cry, about Jan, and about Ginny, and about his parents, and about how much he _hated_ scented candles and how much he liked the fruity smell of Holly's shampoo as her hair went flat against the pressure of his mouth. He cried, and he held Holly as she cried, and he cried without thinking about when he would stop crying or if he should be asking Holly if she was okay or if he should go pick up the prescription bottles he just dropped in the hallway… He just cried, and didn't think about anything else except crying.

Well, he did think about Holly's hands as they inched up to grip the back of his shirt. He could feel her fingernails through the fabric, not scratching, just holding him. And there her legs shuffling closer to him, as close as she could manage — not kicking him, just standing with him. And he felt her tears seeping through his shirt, because she was hurting and not because she was drunk and bitter at her mother for not returning her calls…

And he felt loved, and he felt love. And that was why, standing in the middle of this nightmare, he wasn't afraid at this moment.

Because he was here now. He had someone who loved him to the end of the earth, and no one was going to hurt him — not anymore.

If they tried, he'd bet money that Holly could drop-kick their ass.

* * *

 _ **100\. Kinda can't believe I'm here.**_

 _ **So, a few things to mention now. First of all, this is the original end of the story. It wasn't the planned end, but at the point that I wrote this, I was heartbroken and too tired to continue it without my best friend. I still feel that way, sometimes, but I've learned how to write again and how to carry on without her - and I've found new friends (for whom I haven't fallen head-over-heels) and they treat me better, and they love me more. Since the time of writing this chapter, I've entered therapy and have worked hard on loving myself; I've started new medication and gotten my sleep on track; I've come out to my family as a lesbian and an atheist; and I've missed her every damn day, but I haven't called her once. And that's the best I can hope for anyone who's been in my situation. Miss them, love them still, but never call. Never sacrifice your wellbeing by calling.**_

 _ **The story isn't quite over yet - I've got an epilogue that I wrote recently, just for the faithful few followers of this story (which I never expected to have). And Emmy, if you're reading this - if this story ever crossed your mind and you went looking to see if I'd published it - I want to thank you, for being my muse and my first heartache. Thank you for never really explaining why you left. That's the best gift you ever gave me.**_

 _ **See you tomorrow.**_


	101. And Way Up There, You and I

**Epilogue**

 **And Way Up There, You and I**

* * *

 _Oh, let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France_

 _Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters_

 _And teach them how to dance…_

\- "You and I" by Ingrid Michaelson.

* * *

"I'm almost done."

"Come on. I want to dance."

"I'm coming," he said through a full mouth, scraping white icing across his mother's gift china. This was his second (and likely his last) piece of cake, and he'd kick himself for forgetting to savor it. This was the taste of today, and he wanted to memorize it. He wanted to memorize _everything_.

A hand inched around his arm with a light tug in her direction. Last bite stowed in mouth, he dropped his fork with a satisfactory clack. He looked up to sass her at how _long_ that took…

But Holly kept knocking the wind out of him.

Her hair was pulled back in the way he loved, knotted low behind her head, making way for cheekbones that hadn't paled once today. Lantern light shone rays around her bare shoulders, off-sleeves drooping lower as she leaned on the table; candlelight cast flickering shadows over the curves and bumps of white lace. She waited as patiently as she could pretend, pink lip caught between her teeth.

When he remembered how to breathe through the unbearable smile, he took her hand. Her eyes lit up, and as she drew him out of his seat, more light flooded her skin until she was glowing. He stared unblinking, drinking her in.

She pulled him from their table and into the room, looking back just in time to catch his awe. Her laughter pierced the dense fog of noise throughout the room — the rumble of conversation, the clink of dishes, the resonant strum of easy guitar — and heads turned their way as they journeyed between tables. His eyes bounced between the bride and the band and the guests, all a flurry of distraction, tripping him over a few chairs on the way. No one laughed at him, though.

Soon enough, the flood of fifty different sounds began to dull, watering down to excited whispers as the bride and groom approached the dance floor. All around, tables of people turned toward the sight. Holly looked back at him again; he knew it was easier for her to keep trained on him.

At the edge of the dance floor stood the band, consisting of Andy, Darryl, and Kevin — the last of whom spotted Michael and Holly, and promptly poked Darryl with his drumstick. Their music quieted to only guitar as each musician frantically flipped to a new music sheet.

They stopped in the center of the room, and both of them took a moment to look around themselves.

One small cabin managed to house twenty-something tables, clothed in white and dressed with hundreds of small candles. Strings of lights adorned the high ceiling, twinkling down on the dwindling dinner of their friends and family — their bridesmaids and groomsmen at attention and beaming — their parents clustered at a table of their own, already holding their breath.

A reverent hush, a sudden rush of chilly mountain air tickled their skin. He turned back to Holly, drawing a sharp breath.

"One, two, three…"

Plucky guitar pierced the silence, and all the pressure of observation washed away. Holly extended her hand, shaking a little; he took it in his, and then the other, and brought them up to a kiss. Her eyes smiled.

From somewhere in outer space, Andy's voice joined the song.

" _Don't you worry there, my honey; we might not have any money…"_

Her hands slid from his grasp and up over his shoulders, arms hooking around him loosely. Michael's hands blindly caught the silk band at her waist, drawing her in closer…

" _But we've got our love to pay the bills…"_

A few chairs turned to see them, but it was all blurs around them now. His eyes were set on her, all heat in his face and in his chest and nothing existing beyond that except the brush of her skirt over his shoes. Holly's forehead rested against his, stare intense and yet soft on his as their steps began to sway.

" _Maybe I think you're cute and funny — maybe I wanna do what bunnies do, with you, if you know what I mean…"_

Michael split into a wide smile, and she chuckled. He kissed her nose the way she hated to love, and her eyes scrunched up with a blush.

" _Oh, let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France,"_ Andy sang. " _Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters, and teach them how to dance…"_

"And you said this would be awkward," Holly muttered, humor in her eyes as she refused to acknowledge everyone around them.

"All first dances are awkward," he tossed off, and brushed a kiss over her lips. She sighed, and it filled him with warmth in the middle of winter.

" _Let's get rich and build a house on a mountain, making everybody look like ants. And way up there, you and I — you and I…"_

"You're floating," Michael whispered, glancing down between them. "You're like a human angel."

"Stop it," Holly said halfheartedly, smile ever-present. She snuggled closer into his embrace, fingers tickling at the back of his neck. "My mouth hurts so bad."

"I can help with that…"

And it was strange, the first dance — the way that everyone watched them in such an intimate moment — watched them kiss and whisper and kiss some more, the same way they'd watched them fall in love all this time. It would freak him out if it weren't so distant, and if the two of them weren't so high in the clouds right now that only the scent of firewood and calla lilies and Holly's perfume could ground them.

"Everybody! _Oh-"_

All at once, thunderous wedding shoes were stomping rhythmically, and the two of them jumped out of their trance. Looking around them, a phenomenon occurred, beginning with the wedding party and spreading through the room: _stomp-stomp-clap, stomp-stomp-clap_ -

" _ **Let's**_ _get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France! Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters, and teach them how to dance!"_

That's when Holly broke first, tears springing to her eyes as everyone around them stomped along to the song. Her hand clamped around her mouth, looking all around — and he followed her gaze, until he spotted the mischievous grins of Jim and Pam Halpert. He laughed.

" _Let's get rich and build a house on a mountain, making everybody look like ants. And way up there, you and I…"_

Michael's hands came up to wipe away Holly's happy tears, and she gave him a weak smile.

" _You and I."_

Even before the last chord struck, the room erupted in cheers and applause, swarming them in love and support. Michael couldn't take it all in, caught between his friends and his family and his wife, and the overwhelming swell in his chest as he reminded himself that this was real — that he was here, with the love of his life, cheered on by everyone he loved.

He'd made it.

Holly caught him in another kiss as the applause flared and waned, and it could've lasted forever if it weren't for the contagious bubbling laughter that came over them. Swiping at tears, Holly sent a grateful smile Jim and Pam's way. "I can't believe they did that."

"God," Michael huffed, blinking back sneaky tears. Turning back to her, he added, "What now? You wanna- we could do the Electric Slide now. What do you think?"

Holly grinned at the idea, but her sights drifted over his shoulder — and without looking, he knew what she wanted to do next. She bit her lip. "Well, I was thinking…"

His expression softened, and he nodded. All the air drained from her body, either relief or emotion or something else entirely.

So he released his embrace, hand still in hers, as they turned toward their parents' table. There sat Annie Flax, eyes shining and fingers pressed to her mouth — and already up straight, Howard Flax, who was a mess visible from across the room. Holly gestured for him to come up.

"Thank you," she mumbled, squeezing Michael's hand. She pulled him in and kissed his ear. "Don't get too comfortable, okay?"

"I promise." He kissed her hand, once on the back and once on the palm, before letting her go. As Howard approached, Michael reached out to wrap a hug around his shoulder. Howard caught it just in time, squeezing, before turning toward his daughter with a tearful smile.

Michael left the dance floor to them and headed for the nearby table, where Annie furiously swiped at her eyes. Sniffing, he took a seat beside her and gave her a nudge.

"You're crying…"

"So're you," she muttered with no bite.

His jaw dropped. "It's my wedding."

"It's my _daughter,_ " she shot back, though her eyes were smiling between wipes. Annie huffed a breath and tossed a hand out toward Holly and Howard, who were already beginning their dance. "They're just fucking with me now."

"Well, that's why the father-daughter dance was invented," Michael mumbled, resting back in his chair. "To fuck with you specifically."

Annie choked a laugh. Her hand moved to his leg, finding his hand and giving it a squeeze. She leaned on her elbow, eyes locked on the bride.

They sat in silence — or as much silence as could be found at an evening-time, open-bar wedding.

Holly and her father had clearly danced together before; they stepped in easy time, her arms looking natural around his neck. Their lips were moving, though Michael couldn't make any of it out. From far enough way, and for probably the first time, Michael noticed how much Holly had inherited from her father. Their eyebrows did the same dance — their smiles started in the same place.

"Keep her smiling like that," Annie said, out of nowhere. When Michael met her eyes, she cleared her throat. "Please. As much as you can."

His nod was instant, reflexive, as though she'd continued a thought he'd begun. He ran a thumb over her hand comfortably.

Holly's chin settled on her father's shoulder. The song broke into chorus.

"You, too."

Michael blinked, then turned toward Annie. "Hm?"

She swallowed. "You smile, too. As much as you can."

He blinked again, a slow smile spreading over his face. He elbowed her arm lightly. "Thanks, Mom."

"Don't push it."

"Right," Michael said, and turned back to the dance floor. "Sorry… Ma."

"Not that either. Just avoid the whole thing."

"What about Mum? Go a little exotic?"

"That's- no, Michael…"

* * *

The Rockies had blessed them with a night not too achingly cold, and so they'd opened up the large cabin doors to a beautiful vista view.

Sunset had just passed over during the ceremony, leaving them with a dim near-night illuminated by candles, and one big bonfire under the care of Dwight Schrute. Thanks to the cooperation of many guests, enough blankets and seating had been brought to gather collectively around the flames — just removed from the cabin, but not too far to catch the glow of hanging lanterns adorning its eaves.

Over his shoulder, Michael could hear a few vestigial conversations from inside; and he spotted the wedding cake, half-eaten and slumping to its side. Still, their little figurine survived at the top. He smiled to himself.

But the raucous dance party of a reception had settled into an easy, rumbling conversation throughout the grassy field. A few strays gathered off for a smoke; a few kids played tag nearer to the cabin, in view of their parents. The night smelled of fire and fresh air — resounded with a hundred conversations, sprinkles of laughter, and the fire crackling in their ears…

" _Speech! Speech! Speech!"_

And the riotous chanting of their friends and family.

"Okay, I'm working on it…"

"Speech! Speech!" Dwight led the charge, very close to Jim's ear. Jim kept scrolling through his phone, his focus mostly unshaken by the tipsy multitudes cheering him on. "Where's the speech, Jim? You're supposed to be the _best_ man."

"Give him a break, Dwight," Michael said in good humor — settled under the weight of Holly's head on his shoulder, bundled up to him under a blanket that said _Ass Daddy_ , brought by Heather. He was ridiculously relaxed — at maximum relaximum. If he were a monk or a yogi or something, he'd be floating out of his seat right now.

Holly seemed to have reached peak comfort, out of her shoes and curled up under her full skirt. Her arms were locked around him under his jacket, and her cold nose would warn him every time she went in to kiss his neck. Holly, usually the more physically reserved, could not keep her hands off him tonight — and he didn't mind it at all.

"Got it," Jim announced, over the impatient chatter in every direction. "All right… Can I have everyone's attention? Again?"

They were only a few drinks in so far, yet wrangling these people out of their individual conversations was nigh on impossible. Even once Jim had caught the general attention, a few stray whispers and hushed giggles pierced the silence.

Jim looked around, clearing his throat a good bit, before pulling his phone up to read:

"So, first of all: congratulations, Michael and Holly," Jim said, to the response of cheers and applause. He nodded to the two of them. "Obviously. We're all so happy for you two. It's been a long time coming."

"Amen," Michael muttered. He laid his head on Holly's and sighed.

Now settling into the attention, Jim turned his eyes on his audience. "So I'm Jim Halpert, for anyone who doesn't know. I worked under Michael back in Scranton for about ten years. So I've gotten to know him a bit."

A few chuckles crossed over the fire.

"And in that time, I've seen… _quite_ a few of Michael's personal endeavors." Gesturing toward Michael, he elaborated, "I watched him start the Michael Scott Paper Company — a short-lived but successful business move on his part. I bore witness to the finished film, _Threat Level Midnight_ , which was an indisputable hit."

Again, there was laughter, more from the Scranton folks and Michael himself. Holly's chuckle vibrated against his side.

Jim grinned as he continued. "And that was just one of several high-brow productions, by the way. The yearly Dundies awards, hosted by Michael himself — which, _I_ think, changed the landscape of awards shows for years to come."

Beaming, Michael sat up a little straighter. He did catch the looks of confusion across the circle, mainly from their family, but he paid them no mind.

"But there was one thing that I noticed, throughout that time," Jim said, looking up from his notes, directly to Michael. "And it was that no matter what you accomplished, you just… didn't seem happy. And I didn't get it."

Off in the distance, a kid squealed, punctuating the lull in conversation. Michael's eyes drifted toward the bonfire as he listened.

"Then Holly showed up at the office," he continued, and that was all it took to get Michael's attention again. Jim grinned as he added, "And Michael just… came to life. And it was _instant_ — I mean, the day she arrived, Michael straight up told me he loved her, and _I_ was like-"

The tension burst into laughter before Jim had even finished the sentence — and even Michael laughed, due to both the objective absurdity and the horrified expression on Jim's face. Michael had meant what he'd said at the time, but looking back, it had been a bit too early to be accurate.

"-yeah, so I tried to kinda reel that in a bit." Jim chuckled, and peeked down at his phone. "But every time Michael was around her, I just saw this… _thing_ light up inside him. And I recognized that thing, because it had happened to me, with Pam."

Behind him, Pam smiled, and he smiled back.

"And I just knew that this wasn't some project, or some fling," he said, with certainty. "It was something to watch. And I think we all did."

Michael, grinning ear to ear, craned his neck to catch Holly's expression — and she was deep pink, either from the heat of the fire or from the story being told. She noticed his gaze and leaned up for a brief kiss, which he obliged.

"And if there's any advice that Pam and I can give you," Jim concluded, drawing their attention again, "it's to _hold onto this_. Not to this day, or to these feelings — but to that thing that makes you light up, because that's gonna carry you through life. _You_ are gonna carry each other through life. And that's not a responsibility; it's a privilege."

And somewhere during this statement, moisture pricked at Michael's eyes, but he didn't bother blinking it away. He locked eyes with Jim for a moment, then over to Pam, who nodded with him as though they'd planned the message together. She winked at him, and he winked back.

"So congratulations!" Jim said this with a huff of breath, as his nerves fell off his shoulders. He clicked his phone off. "Good luck. We love you guys… End speech."

He sat down hastily, as though he could escape the reaction. Of course, he didn't — applause thundered throughout the group, along with a few cheers. Michael whistled loudly, and Holly jolted upright. He muttered his apology and kissed her hair, and she settled back onto his shoulder without much convincing.

A few people stepped off to the side then, as conversation sneaked back up to the surface; a few people came to join them, a blur of a child running past the fire and a chorus of nervous parents jumping up at the sight. Michael's eyes closed for just a moment, slumping into the blanket…

A hand found his shoulder and squeezed.

"Hey, Mike?"

Michael knew the voice before he even opened his eyes. Peering over his shoulder, he was met with the lowlit face of Jeff Cooper — who was, oddly enough, _not_ the person he'd most dreaded seeing today. Michael tried not to let that relief show on his face.

"Hey," Michael said, more a question than a greeting. Holly's head lifted lazily.

"Hi, Jeff," she added, a bit softer around the edges.

"Hey," Jeff echoed, and smiled at the both of them. Cautiously, he set a hand on Michael's shoulder, recollecting his attention. "So listen: you can say 'no' to this and I won't be offended-"

"No," Michael said reflexively; but he quickly cracked a smile. "I'm kidding. Go ahead."

Jeff huffed a nervous chuckle. "Yeah. So… I had a little something I wanted to say — just a short toast, but I wanted to check with you, first. Just as your…family member."

He was skirting around the word "father" and Michael knew it, and he held his breath until Jeff finished talking. His gaze inched over Jeff's shoulder, toward where his mother sat — but to his surprise, she was not watching over their encounter. Her back was turned, even.

Holly's hand squeezed his side, a move of solidarity. She did not urge him either way.

To his own surprise, Michael nodded.

Jeff blinked, unsure of the response at first — but as their eyes met, he nodded back. Patting his shoulder, Jeff straightened up and headed back toward his seat. Michael watched cautiously as he went.

Under the blanket, Holly's embrace tightened around him. He smiled, resting his head. "You like that?"

"Mhm," she hummed, kissing his chest.

The two of them turned their attention toward the circle, where Jeff began flicking his beer can loudly. Slowly, the chatter died down to a tentative lull, heads turning toward Michael's parents.

"-everybody, for your attention," Jeff began, voice just audible now. He, of course, had no notes — he just flashed his million-dollar smile around the group and clasped his hands together. "Don't worry — I'll make this quick… _That's what she said_."

A few people laughed, including Michael, though it was a conflicted laugh. Michael didn't know whether to be honored that straight-laced, religious _Jeff_ made such a joke for his sake — or annoyed that he'd stolen Michael's trademark comedy — but he just decided to laugh. It was his wedding day and nothing could ruin it for him.

"Anyway," he continued, looking down at his hands. "If you don't know me, I'm Jeff Cooper, Michael's stepdad. I married Emily when Mike was pretty young — and that wasn't the _smoothest_ of transitions, to be sure…"

" _You can say that again_ ," Michael muttered, but only Holly seemed to hear. She pinched him playfully.

Jeff cleared his throat, and turned to Michael. "But even though things were rough for a while, and even though I entered into his life a little late… I don't know. Mike, I've always thought of you as my kid, even if you weren't _mine_."

Michael's teasing smile drooped a little. He swallowed.

"And any parent here knows that when you raise a kid, there are a lot of choices you have to make, and a _lot_ to consider. But in the end, all you really want is for them to find happiness." Gesturing toward Michael and Holly, he added, "And I think this is a pretty good start."

Michael did grin at that, tugging Holly closer — and she looked up at him with smiling eyes. She winked, and he melted.

"And if there's any last advice I can give you, as a parent," Jeff said, and reached down for his wife's hand, "it's this: finding the right person, the one who fills your life with joy and security and meaning, is the truest happiness I've ever known. Hold onto her — make it last. It's all you're ever gonna need, I _promise_."

With that, Jeff nodded, and settled back into his seat. The others clapped for him, Holly included; across the way, Mom gave Jeff a playful nudge, and Jeff kissed her cheek. Michael smiled, just a little bit.

And as the party fell back into chaos, and Andy resumed the low strum of his guitar, and someone tossed something into the fire, and Angela hissed out Dwight's name in a familiar way — as everything relaxed again, Michael found himself fixated on those words, and the look on his mother's face…

Holly must have sensed this, and she brought him back to the moment with a kiss to his neck. His hand fell to her side and drew her in, a possessive movement. She grinned, and kissed his lips, and held him down to earth.

If he were ever to take advice from his parents, this was it: to hold onto her, the greatest of his dreams.

* * *

Holly wondered what the stars felt like.

Her outstretched elbow haunted the side of her vision, blurring under the runny twinkles of some eight-hundred blue kisses in the sky. She hadn't been out here this late before — hadn't had this many stars to count, a dizzying amount, just for her. Every time she blinked, a few more popped out, winking down at her.

She lay back on her elbows, and they dug through the blanket and into the earth in a grounding way. Knuckle-deep in the knot of her hair, she picked at the pins and tugged out little twigs of baby's breath, all into a pile somewhere at her side. She sighed, and her breath swirled out in fog.

The _stars._

Maybe it was the wedding high, or the champagne, or the confetti cake — but she imagined she could reach out and touch those stars, just now. They were so close, so palpable that she could nearly snap them from their strings and hand them out as party favors. She was tempted to stand up and try…

She kept forgetting that she wasn't alone, but a laugh or a shout or the beginning of a familiar joke could always draw her back to earth. A good few people and their kids had made off earlier; now only a few settled around the dying fire, cigarette trails wisping off into the thin mountain air. Andy had surrendered his guitar to Creed, who plucked lazily under the puff of his cigar. The conversation turned drunk and sentimental, from what she could catch when she cared to listen.

Someone's gaze was on her — she caught a couple of people looking at her, before turning back to the conversation. She looked away, blushing.

All eyes were on her this evening. It was embarrassing, and warming, and she felt beautiful and awkward and _glowing_ as she wrenched her hair out of its low perch, pins rolling down her full skirt. She freed her tangled fingers just long enough to find her half-full flute of bubbly, and dropped her head back…

Overhead, she found an upside-down Michael approaching. She smiled, and he smiled back.

"Hey."

"Hey, you," she greeted into her glass, still perched in her lips as she examined him. He'd loosened his tie — it had been bothering him all day, she knew — and walked sock-to-earth, a s'more in each hand. His face held that familiar warmth, the silly grin he wore whenever he made a good joke or received a compliment. That look made her want to kiss him all over, but she wouldn't — not just now, while all his friends were watching him go.

As he came around to her other side, she returned right-side-up and set her empty glass aside. The yarny blanket made wrinkles as he found a place next to her; and once there, he extended a s'more to her. She ignored the obvious lick-marks on the edges of the chocolate and accepted the treat.

"Having fun?" he asked, and she couldn't imagine why.

"Of course," she whispered, nipping at the edge of her s'more. She wiped at the edge of her mouth before adding, "Just taking a second — breathing it in."

His hand landed behind her, a loose embrace. Holly shuffled into his shoulder and drew her knees up to his side. She inhaled.

He smelled like bonfire, and it was good.

Polishing off his s'more, Michael looked her over. He licked the chocolate from his lips. "Taking your hair down?"

She nodded, mouth full.

"May I?"

She nodded, even though his hands were probably marshmallowy, and shifted to face away from him. In her periphery, she spotted the bewildered look on his face — she chuckled, but he ignored that and got to work.

"They're already cleaning up inside," Michael mumbled. A pin fell cold against her neck; he pinched it up and dropped it into the blanket. "Whenever you want to go get warm, we can."

Although the idea of crawling into bed with him did appeal to her, she was content not to make that call just yet. "I'm fine to stay out for a bit."

His lips brushed over her neck, a sneaky little kiss. "Aren't you cold?"

"Not now," Holly said — and she reached back to help with her hair, but he took her hand and kissed it. She grinned, peeking over her shoulder.

The fire was fading now, with only a few sleepy guests curled at its edges. She couldn't imagine what time it was now — late enough to feel tired, certainly, but the night didn't seem to be _over_. Maybe she just didn't want it to be.

"Was it everything you wanted?" she had to ask, practical nonsense at this point but still on her mind.

"Everything," Michael said with a conviction she couldn't doubt. Her hair finally fell free, and he gave it a fluff. "Everything."

The scene was silent for a moment, but a comfortable sort of silent. Michael caught back on his elbows to look at the stars; and Holly dropped her head on his chest, and something relaxed in him, and he laid his head down. She lazily draped an arm over him.

"It doesn't feel real," he said, after a long moment of thought. He played with her fingers absentmindedly, gaze drifting off somewhere in the sky. "It's like I'm here, and I feel it, but I can't grab onto it."

Smiling, she buried her frozen nose in his jacket. "I know. I thought I was gonna drown in this."

"Hm?" he asked, chest rumbling beneath her ear. She inhaled to repeat herself…

"I don't know," Holly admitted with a shrug. "I'm drunk."

Michael craned his neck to look at her. "No, you're not."

No, she wasn't. She sighed.

"I just…" she began, gaze slipping down. "I thought this couldn't end right, you know? I didn't think I'd actually _get_ to you."

He didn't respond to this at first. She could feel his eyes studying her, his hand sneaking up from her waist.

"That's weird," he said, and brushed her hair back. "I always believed I'd get to you."

And Holly… melted.

So, draping her arms around his neck, she pulled him into a smiling kiss — and he set a hand under her chin to hold her there. He sighed, and she leaned into him, and she got a little lost in it.

She did pull back, forehead to his, and muttered, " _You're_ drunk."

"Maybe a little."

"Maybe a lot," she teased. "You taste like champa-"

He caught her in another kiss, in that slow, warm lust creeping up on both of them. His mouth was warm against the cold; she drew breath, and it was a flood of champagne, and confetti cake, and smoke, and mountain air, and good dreams, and wool blankets… and bliss. This was bliss, and she just _melted_ into it…

Maybe Holly didn't believe in much. She didn't believe she could actually reach out and touch the stars. She didn't believe in god, or fate, or getting it right the first time — and sometimes, she didn't believe in herself, either.

But she believed in this.

* * *

 _Let's get rich and build a house on a mountain_

 _Making everybody look like ants,_

 _And way up there, you and I_

 _You and I._

* * *

 _ **Thanks, again. Let me know what you thought :)**_


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